


The Hero of Our Own Story

by kingdomfaraway



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: AU, Abusive Parents, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Foster Care, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Jerk Tony Stark, Orphan Peter Parker, Orphans, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Physical Abuse, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29047977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingdomfaraway/pseuds/kingdomfaraway
Summary: Peter Parker is an orphan living with an abusive foster family, completely alone and biding his time until he can be out on his own.And then one day Tony Stark shows up with a fake internship and a promise to become an Avenger one day. Peter’s given a suit and a way out if only for a few times a week.Sounds like a fairy tale? Hardly.
Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker
Comments: 133
Kudos: 387





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ay, ay, so I really wanted to take a stab at a few tropes with this one, like orphan/foster Peter, abused Peter, and such. Therefore, this ended up being a bit darker than my usual kind of fics, especially since it features both physical and mental child abuse. Consider those tags active for each chapter, please! There is also accusations of sexual abuse of a minor that is not true, I’ll tag the chapter in the notes. 
> 
> I’m also ignoring a lot of canon because I do what I want. *hair flip* 
> 
> There are a lot of terrific fics with this premise and any similarities are by accident! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter had to suppress a yawn as he sat in his Introduction to College Math class. He wanted to bury his head into his arms, but he knew Mr. Swantron would easily call him out for the action. If the class was something more interesting, Peter wouldn’t have a problem paying attention but he’d learned pretty much everything they were going over his first year at Midtown. He was pretty sure he could teach the class if they’d let him.

Since starting at the public school, he’d tested out of almost every class offered to him but now he was stuck as the only sophomore in the senior-level class having to pretend that he was learning and not bored out of his mind. The school didn’t know what to do with him and it showed. He had hoped proving he was smart enough to test out of the school would give him a shot at going back to Midtown, but it didn’t. Instead, it landed him in all the advanced classes, most of which he was still ahead of anyway.

When the bell finally rang, he stayed back, letting all the older students file out of the room ahead of him. He tried to stay as unseen as possible at school. He was pretty lucky, no one seemed to notice him begin with and there was no singular bully who was hell-bent on making his life miserable as Flash had been before. There was more or less a small fraction of older students who looked at Peter like he was a guppy among the mass piranhas, but even they tended to leave him alone if he didn’t draw attention to himself. 

With school out for the day, Peter finished up at his locker and headed out into the chill of the October afternoon. He didn’t have a coat anymore, he accidentally left the last one he owned at the group home he’d been at, along with a lot of his other clothing and personal items. 

He wasn’t going to go back for them and at this point, he wasn’t going to ask for any new ones either. The Mitchell’s had made it pretty clear about how much money they were willing to spend on Peter, which came pretty close to absolutely nothing. They’d do the bare minimum, of course, they’d most likely give him a winter jacket, but he doubted it would be warm enough or arrive before winter started to settle in. Instead, Peter had his Midtown hoodie on, it was certainly warm enough for the autumn chill but not much else.

It didn’t help that Peter had another factor going against him and the weather. His own body was always trying to work against him. He had a hard time thermoregulating himself, his body temperature never stayed very steady even when he had the available resources to stay cool or warm. He was going to have to start becoming a little more creative to survive the upcoming winter. He had once read that some spiders hibernate if they were too cold and Peter wasn’t ready to see if he inherited that particular trait. 

The Mitchells lived close enough to the school that Peter could skip taking the city bus if he didn’t want to. He usually liked to walk home, even if he was feeling tired and cold. He liked the 20 minutes or so break he had between school and the house. He had a strict curfew, but he rarely was late. The punishment for being late was good enough incentive to keep on the straight and narrow.

With his hands shoved in his hoodies’ pockets to keep himself warm, he took his time walking from his Bayside High School, down the suburban streets. He regrettably damaged his last working pair of headphones almost 3 months ago and he hadn’t had the money to buy a new pair of them. He stuck the unconnected earbuds in his ears to avoid anyone even trying to make conversation with him. He missed walking to the music, it always seemed to make the trip not only easier but calmer for him. Even with his senses dialed up, having a singular sound, like music, to focus on helped tamed everything else around him. 

He checked his phone a few times but his battery was nearly depleted, so he had to pocket it after only 10 minutes or so. He needed to replace the phone too, but that was an even bigger expense. Eventually, he’d have to bring it up, a phone with something the Mitchell’s thought was a necessary item, they’d get him a new one but he’d be paying a cost beyond money for it.

He had to pick and choose his battles the best he could. 

~*~

In no time at all, he arrived in front of the Mitchell’s modest two-story brownstone. He blatantly never thought of it as his home, it would only mean that his situation was permanent. Just as he expected, Mr. Mitchell was waiting for him in the kitchen. Peter toed off his shoes, as he caught sight of the man hovering next to the kitchen counter. Peter didn’t even need to see his face to know he was annoyed with him.

Peter took a few deep breaths before walking into the kitchen, trying to keep his face neutral, void of any emotion. 

Mr. Mitchell greeted Peter with a harsh mumble. “About damn time.”

Peter looked downwards not making eye contact. “Sorry, sir. I walked home from school today.”

“Did I ask you for an excuse?” Mr. Mitchell asked Peter could feel the anger and resentment bleeding from him. The man hated Peter’s very existence and he didn’t shy away from letting Peter know it. 

Peter, wisely, didn’t respond, instead, he kept his eyes downcast, hands behind his back, standing up straight and tall. 

“Get started on dinner,” Mr. Mitchell barked at him. Peter nodded and started to move around the man to get towards the cupboard. Peter really didn’t mind making dinner, he was pretty good at the foods he could manage. 

“Are you even going to ask what it is that you are to make?” Mr. Mitchell asked he held his arm out, effectively stopping Peter from going around the man. He stopped immediately and stood still, inches away from making contact with his arm. He took a step back, so he was in front of him again.

“It’s Wednesday, sir. We have pasta on Wednesday,” Peter said, taking the bait despite himself. Mr. Mitchell never asked questions that Peter was supposed to answer but it really didn’t make much of a difference. If Peter didn’t answer, he got hit, if Peter did answer, he got hit. Mr. Mitchell just liked having an excuse for it, as flimsy or stupid as it may be. 

Mr. Mitchell snorted an ugly flemmy sound that always made Peter feel a little sick to his stomach. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

Peter knew he shouldn’t take the bait again, he knew the consequences of being a smartass but he was exhausted from the long and boring school day. 

No matter how hard he tried, his sleeping patterns were screwed up lately and he only managed a solid 4 hours of sleep before having to get up in the morning. It didn’t help that he was also absolutely starving, the familiar pains of an empty stomach reverberate through him. He wasn’t offered breakfast and he didn’t have enough money to get lunch at school. He only had eaten a protein bar from the stash he had in his locker.

The lack of sleep mixed in with the lack of food for the day just added to Peter’s inability to hold back the sass. 

So instead of ignoring Mr. Mitchell's comment, he responded. “Any can keep track of the days of the week, sir.”

Instead of responding, Mr. Mitchell moved forward, hands going straight to Peter’s neck. Peter saw it coming, but held back the urge to dodge, allowing Mr. Mitchell to grab him. He had some sense of self-preservation left, he knew he didn’t want to piss him off that much by avoiding him completely. Peter learned the hard way, avoiding whatever punishment that was heading his way, always the next blow so much worse. 

Mr. Mitchell wrapped his hand around Peter’s neck, his thumb sitting right on his Adam’s apple, the other set of fingers pressing into the back of his neck.

The finger on his Adam’s apple pressed down and Peter tried in vain not to fight with the lack of air. His body twitched and he had to fist his hands to avoid grabbing onto Mr. Mitchell’s thick and strong forearm. Instead, he let it happen, let the pressure on his throat build to almost an intolerable amount. His brain screamed at him to stop the man, to push him away, to save himself. But he ignored that voice and instead stood almost impossibly still. 

“I can’t wait,” Mr. Mitchell spat at him, flecks of spit hitting Peter’s face. “Until I can throw you out on the street where you belong.”

He let go of Peter’s neck, just shy of cutting off Peter’s air supply completely. Peter tried to hold in the cough and gasps but did a poor job of it. Mr. Mitchell’s happy smirk made that evident enough. He got off on watching Peter try to act stoic sometimes, he liked knowing how hard he tried not to break. 

They stood for a moment, Peter fighting off the urge to cough and touch his neck and Mr. Mitchell staring down at him like he was nothing. Finally, Mr. Mitchell moved aside, allowing Peter to move around him. Peter got to work on dinner quickly thereafter, not even wasting the time to put away his backpack. He dropped it by the kitchen table, he’d be able to take it upstairs before dinner to avoid Mr. Mitchell yelling about his stuff being in the way.

Mr. Mitchell retired to the living room, leaving Peter in relative peace. Mrs. Mitchell would be home soon and that’s when dinner was required to be finished. She tended to work later than Mr. Mitchell did, but she wasn’t any less cruel than he was. While Mr. Mitchell liked to physically hurt Peter, she liked to use her words to inflict the most pain. They were both assholes, in the long run, and got their kicks off trying to intimidate Peter as much as possible. He was nothing more than a punching bag to them.

The couple made it very clear the only reason why they fostered children was the paycheck, even if they did complain about how small it was and the free child labor that came with it. They barely used a single dime of it to take care of Peter, all of the money went straight into their greedy pockets. 

When Peter had first come to them, they had 2 other kids living in their care but they aged out within a few months and the Mitchells happily let them go on their own. He didn't know if they were treated as badly as he was, it seemed both the Mitchell’s locked on to Peter pretty quickly, like he was prey to them, as if they saw the damage that had already been done to him and just latched on to it. 

He liked being alone though, it also meant Mr. Mitchell wasn’t hurting any other kids too. Peter could take it better than most and he preferred to. If there was going to be a punching bag, Peter was willing to take up the position. 

He let his mind wander while making the spaghetti with meatballs he was an expert at making now. If he focused too much on the task, he’d be reminded of the way May tried to teach him how to make pasta a few times. Or the way Ben liked to throw the strands against the wall to see if they would stick or not. The jar sauced he made wasn’t as good as the homemade kind May used to make him. He wouldn’t risk trying to make his own, the Mitchell’s wouldn’t like it much anyway. 

Instead, he thought about the book he’d had to put down the night before. He was almost finished reading Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, only a few chapters from the ending and he couldn’t wait to finish it. He was hoping he could make it to the library soon not only to return the book but to get the next one on his list, To Say Nothing Of The Dog. He’d been reading a lot of dark sci-fi lately and he was looking forward to taking a break into the more amusing and fun side of science fiction. His book list was never-ending, he had an entire notebook filled with books he’d read one day. It was one of the only things available to him that he enjoyed. He couldn’t dumpster dive for computer parts anymore, couldn’t afford Lego sets or other things he liked. The library was free and the Mitchells didn’t mind if he went, so he tried to take as much joy from it as he could. 

Dinner was ready just as Mrs. Mitchell walked through the front door. Neither of them said anything to Peter as they sat down in front of the meal. He grabbed his backpack and retreated up the stairs and into his small bedroom. When they were finished eating, they’d call him down to clean the table and if there’s any left he’d be able to take the leftovers for his dinner.

Until then, Peter flopped down on his bed and grabbed his book from the nightstand.

~*~

Peter knew statistically that not all foster families were bad, maybe just .1% of them. He just happened to have something called Parker Luck, which meant he happened to land in that small percentage of bad homes. He was sure the other 99.9% of people out there were kind and loving, he was just sure he was never going to end up at one of those places. And he’d never end up adopted either, he was just way too old for that.

He also didn’t want to go back to the group home he’d first been taken to. It was far too overwhelming for him and when he was there, he truly was a guppy in a sea of piranhas. He could handle the Mitchell’s for as long as he had to. 

He figured he would just deal with the Mitchell’s until he turned 18 and then set off on his own. The state would give him enough to start with and he knew if he could handle the last few years of his life, he could handle anything. 

He’d been saving up money for a while, mostly from doing odd jobs here and there for people. He tutored some freshmen every once in a while and made a few bucks that way. He promised himself he wouldn’t spend any of it for any reason, he had to save it all to give himself a head start in life. So the money sat hidden in a small bag in the closet, next to the rest of his most treasured items.

Mrs. Mitchell hollered to him to come and clean the table from their dinner. When he arrived, all of the food was still sitting out and with a little leftover.

There wasn't nearly enough food for an average 15-year-old, let alone one with an enhanced metabolism but it was better than nothing at all. They left behind just enough pasta for a small bowl, but none of the meatballs or sauce. Peter quietly snuck butter and salt just to add something to it. They were pretty strict about the amount and type of food Peter was allowed to take on his own. He figured a little salt and butter wouldn’t do too much damage.

Even afterward his stomach was cramping a little, growling to remind Peter he hadn’t had a complete meal in nearly 24 hours.

He returned to his room after he’d eaten and cleaned up. He wasn’t allowed anytime outside of his room when the Mitchell’s were home. The second dinner was finished, he was expected to stay as far away and quiet as humanly possible. He was allowed trips to the bathroom but that was the absolute farthest he was allowed to go. 

He was happy to have a room to himself, it wasn’t all that bad. The room was an average size one, a pair of bunk beds, nightstand, and small desk adorned the room. It was far from personalized, but he had enough space not to feel too claustrophobic. Back at the group home, he shared a room with 5 boys in it, coming from being an only child it was a nightmare for Peter. 

He made his way into the closet, pushed aside his clothing, and found the small trap door behind it. A simple push opened the panel to reveal a box full of food. Nothing healthy or fulfilling, but enough to take the hunger buzz away. It was mostly convenient store food, he could buy cheaply and sneak into the house without anyone knowing it. Fresh food would spoil too easily for him to keep hidden, so he was stuck with junk food and water. Occasionally, he’d get some damaged fruit from the grocery store, but he hadn’t had the chance to get any for a few weeks now.

He grabbed a few bags of chips, a packaged brownie, and a bottle of water before heading back to his bed. He took his time eating, savoring the salty and sweet tastes from the items he grabbed. It might not be the most nutritious meal, but at least it was enjoyable. 

He hid the wrappers in a plastic bag and shoved them in his backpack. He could dump them at school and the Mitchell's would be none the wiser to his secret stash. 

~*~

The weekends were Peter’s free time. 

The Mitchells’ preferred him out of sight unless he was cleaning or cooking for them. On Saturdays, once he finished household chores, he had most of the afternoon to find something to do outside of the house or he’d find himself locked up in his room. 

Most of the time he’d leave the house by foot, coming back only in enough time to make dinner.

A long time ago he might have spent the time with Ned, but he hadn’t talked to him for almost a year. He was sure Ned had moved on from Peter, found new friends that weren’t trouble. He missed Ned, but he wanted the best for him and that usually meant not having Peter around. 

Peter didn’t have any friends at his public school. Which meant he didn’t have any place he could go. He ended up going to the library, it was his only and favorite refuge, when he was there he didn’t have to worry about anything. He could aimlessly walk the stacks, looking for another book to add to his list. He remembered his Mom taking him a few times when he was a kid. She’d always let him pick out as many books as he wanted to take home. She never told him no, never put them back on the shelf, no matter what the content was. May and Ben would take him too, he had a lot of memories doing the summer reading programs, getting the stamps on his book card, winning tiny little prizes. While he grew out of it after a little bit, going back now always made him feel good. 

May was a big fan of science fiction books, she was always reading something. She would pass them along to Peter, the ones she thought he’d love the most. She had a notebook she’d write down all the titles in, ones she had finished and ones she wanted to read. It was one of the only items he was able to take and keep after she was killed. He was determined to finish the entire list and to add some of his own to it. 

He felt nothing but freedom when he was at the library. There was no one there who knew him, sure most of the library staff recognized him, but he didn’t need to worry about that. It was easy for Peter to blend in, he was easily an average looking person. A little shorter than most guys, maybe a little too skinny but nothing about him stood out in any way. No one looked twice at him most of the time, even the occasions he’d shown up with bruises visible.

He spent several hours in the library and once he felt he had everything he needed he walked back outside. 

He had an hour to make his way back to the Mitchell’s house, so he skipped the buses again, in favor of walking back there. He made his way down the street, hands in his pockets, hood over his head, looking down as he walked. Standing out as little as humanly possible. 

Or at least, he would, had he not heard the sound of a car screeching around a corner. He shot his head up, his senses like a shot of electricity, warning him of oncoming danger before it arrived.

He could see it, the car, taking the corner too fast, heading directly towards the waiting pedestrians. Peter moved on autopilot, running to get in between the car and the people. He slid out in front of them, just as the car barreled towards the unsuspecting people. His hands made contact with the car’s bumper and he held on, the momentum of the car versus Peter’s body caused the car to fly up in the air Peter held on, trying to keep it from flipping over him or worse, somehow hurting the driver.

The car bounced with a loud thud onto the ground and Peter let go, suddenly realizing what he had just done.

He had just stopped a 3,000-ton car going closer to 40 mph with his bare hands.

In front of people. People with cell phones all pointed at Peter. 

The world seemed to have moved in slow motion when it was happening, but now everything was coming rushing back to Peter at top speed. All the sounds, smells, and sight of people, lots more people than before, all looking at Peter, their phones pointing at him, their voices shouting.

He decided to run immediately. He took off down the street and then in another stupid decision, jumped onto the side of the building closest to him and hurried up the sides until he was safely on the roof. He stopped once he felt far enough away from the phones and eyes of people on the street.

He was stupid, so, so stupid. It was the wrong decision to intervene. He should have just kept going, kept walking. Ignored the instinct that shot through him to help people, because that wasn’t what he did. 

He absolutely couldn’t risk people knowing who he was, what abilities he had. He couldn’t risk putting anyone in danger. He sat down on the roof and put his head into his hands. He breathed, trying to calm himself down the best he could. 

A lifetime ago Peter put on a stupid homemade suit and went out into the world to become a hero. He tried with a dogged determination to help people, but it didn’t work out for him. He couldn’t even manage to save the only two people left in his life.

He had to find a way to calm himself down, the last time he thought about what happened to Ben and May, he couldn’t stop the panic attack that followed. It would do him no good to have another one on the roof of some building.

He breathed, taking in one big gulp after another, trying to count down from 100. He vaguely remembered a therapist who told him to try and focus on something or to find his “happy place”. Peter wasn’t sure if finding a happy place would ever work for him anymore, those places were the ones that caused him the most panic.

Instead, he kept his eyes closed and focused on the last few pages of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep he had finished. Isidore had just found a spider, a species they thought was extinct. Pris wanted to cut its legs off, thinking the spider was greedy for wanting so many. Peter had to laugh at himself, what a way to calm himself down, to think about a spider being mutilated and then drowned to put it out of its misery. The chapter ended on what Peter thought was a confusing situation, a new spider being given to Isidore by Mercer, with very little explanation to it. Was the spider artificial now too? Was Mercer capable of bringing back the dead?

Peter opened his eyes and let out a little laugh if only his English professors could see him now, using literary analysis to talk himself out of a panic attack. But it seemed to do the trick, his breathing was back to even and he was able to stand up without any nausea or dizziness.

Taking one more deep breath, he headed back to the house.

~*~

By the time he got back to the Mitchell’s, he was almost an hour late. He walked in, knowing very well things weren’t going to go his way. 

Mr. Mitchell was waiting for him, he was already stalking towards Peter, reaching his hand out to grab his arm and drag him towards the front room. “I’m sorry,” he said, letting Mr. Mitchell drag him and then fling him onto the living room floor. “There was an accident, I got caught up in it. I tried so hard to get here on time.”

“I didn’t ask you for an excuse,” Mr. Mitchell said, standing tall in front of Peter, who was down on his knees. Peter bowed his head down, he was tired and scared, his anxiety was still bubbling at the surface. “We give you everything you need, Peter,” Mr. Mitchell started his well-practiced speech. “And all we ask of you are simple things like a curfew. You don’t seem capable of handling that very well. I hope you understand that I punish you because I want you to be better.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter responded automatically. He kept his head down but he could hear Mr. Mitchell take the belt from around his pants. He hated the belt, it hurt so much and it would leave his back so sore afterward. Even with his advanced healing, it’d take him so long to heal, especially since he was tired and hungry. 

“Don’t move, don’t make a sound,” Mr. Mitchell said darkly, Peter closed his eyes tightly. The first smack of the belt hit him, the momentum made him sway but he didn’t move. He bite down on his bottom lip to keep from making a sound. The hits continued one after another with various levels of intensity. The sound of the belt smacking him echoed in the otherwise silent room. 

Peter never felt more like a failure in his life in those moments. He was stronger, he was Spider-man at one point, he should stop Mr. Mitchell from hurting him but he didn’t. He just let it happen. He let all the bad things happen to May and Ben too, he wasn’t strong enough to save either of them, why should he even bother to save himself. 

Peter didn’t count how many lashes of the belt he got before Mr. Mitchell finally stopped and sent him up to his room. He didn’t waste any time stripping his clothing off and tending to the back wounds as best as he could. He had some first aid items, hidden in his room. Peter crept into the small bathroom two doors down from his own to wash up, he caught the angry red marking in the mirror, littered across his back. He did his best to clean the ones he could reach. He didn’t get to shower very often, the Mitchell’s had a strict no wasting water policy in place. He’d have to either shower at school tomorrow or wait another two days before he could do it in the house.

Once everything looked clean enough, he started to place bandages over the area. He’d made the mistake in the past of not trying to cover them and found out the hard way how much they hurt in the morning. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be good enough. 

By the time he went back into his room and slipped into his pajamas, the stinging pain in his back was starting to dull down and meld into the other aches he had. All of the exercising and emotional effort from the day was taking its toll on him. He knew he should eat something but nothing sounded appealing at the moment. He had enough spare change to get breakfast at school the next day, he would have to wait until then. 

He laid on his stomach on his bed with Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, opened in front of him. He tried to read the first few sentences, but he was having a hard time remaining focused on the words. He wanted to wind himself down from the day and reading usually helped, but he soon gave up and fell into a dreamless sleep.

~*~

Even a few days later Peter was still feeling run down. He let himself go on autopilot, mind far away from his daily life. Mr. Mitchell didn’t hit him again but he wasn’t very kind still. Peter made dinner three nights in a row only to be given the least amount of food possible. The red marks on his back weren’t going away nearly as fast, but the pain had moved onto a dull ache that hovered in the background. It was fruitless to try any medication for the pain, Peter learned the hard way his body metabolized it way too fast to be effective. He’d gone through all of the over-the-counter medication he could find but nothing ever worked enough to take away the pain.

Despite his best efforts to talk himself out of it, he looked up footage from his impromptu hero act on YouTube. Thankfully none of it showed his face the only thing identifiable was his Midtown hoodie, but the logo wasn’t too visible. Most of the comments seemed to think the act was some kind of fake stunt. Peter decided it was best to just forget about it and move on.

Which he would have done fairly well if he hadn’t walked into the Mitchell’s house after school to see Tony Stark sitting at the kitchen table. 

He was willfully unprepared to see the man in person, so much so that he just stood there staring, mouth agape. There was a split second between making eye contact with Mr. Stark that Peter almost turned tail and ran. There was only one reason why Tony Stark was waiting for him and it wasn’t going to be a good one.

“Ah, there he is,” Mr. Stark said into the silence that had elapsed after Peter’s entry.

Mr. Mitchell wasn’t not smiling, he was staring at Peter as if he was hoping his gaze would set the boy on fire where he stood. “Uh,” Peter said, not very helpfully. “Um, hi?”

“Peter,” Mr. Mitchell said in a stern voice. “Mr. Stark and I have been waiting for you. It seems you have forgotten to inform me of your entry into the…,” he trailed. 

“September Foundation, it’s a scholarship program for underprivileged kids. Peter here entered a few months ago and has impressed me so much, I wanted to speak with him in person.”

“Oh,” Peter said, certain he never did anything of the sort but Mr. Stark had lowered his sunglasses enough for Peter to catch his wink. “Yeah, sorry. It was uh, a long shot, really, Mr. Mitchell. Didn’t think I’d win or anything. Sorry, I forgot to tell you about it.”

“Well,” Mr. Stark started, he stood up and took a step closer to Peter, who by instinct already took a step backward. “You have. Why don’t we head up to your room and we can talk logistics for a few?” He turned to Mr. Mitchell. “If that’s alright with you.”

Mr. Mitchell kept his gaze on Peter, who tried his best to look in control of the situation. He knew, regardless of how Mr. Mitchell answered, Peter would be paying a hefty price for Mr. Stark’s visit into the house. “Of course,” he answered after a beat of silence. If Mr. Stark found any of their interactions odd, he didn’t show it.

Peter gestured towards the stairs and moved, not looking back to see if Mr. Stark followed behind him. He opened the door, letting Mr. Stark walk past him into the room. Once Peter shut the door behind him, he seemed to drop the act.

He pulled out his phone and before Peter could ask a single question, projected the image of Peter stopping the car filled the space between them. “Hypothetical question, that’s you right?”

Peter knew he could try and deny it, but it wasn’t worth it. Peter had nothing left in his life, it didn’t matter if Mr. Stark knew what he’d done. So instead he just nodded his head as the video showed Peter moving quickly, running away from the scene he’d just created. He hadn’t seen this video before, it was a slightly closer angle, but you couldn’t see his face very well. 

“Ohh,” Mr. Stark said and flipped up another video, this time one from over a year ago of Peter wearing his homemade costume. Peter had seen the video before, but it had been a long time since he saw that Peter Parker. He watched himself web up a mugger and swing away from the scene. “I thought you’d deny it. That’s you too right? You were that spiderling.”

“Spider-man,” Peter answered back automatically. “Or I was.”

“Ah yes,” Mr. Stark stopped the image and pocketed his phone. He walked over to Peter’s empty desk, looking at the beat-up laptop sitting there. He moved it around as if he was looking for something. “You stopped almost a year ago now. I figured the Accords scared you enough that you gave up.”

“It wasn’t that,” Peter mumbled. He dropped the backpack he’d been carrying on the floor next to the bed.

“I’m sure it had more to do with the death of your Aunt and Uncle, May and Ben Parker,” Mr. Stark said in such a blaise tone, his words made Peter tense up immediately. No one talked to him about May and Ben. It’d been so long since heard someone else say their names out loud that it left him momentarily speechless. 

He tried so hard to keep those thoughts away from him. To separate the life he had before the spider bite and after, onto two neat little compartments in his mind. Only sometimes allowing the memories of Ben and May to help ease some of the pain of his new life. 

When he didn’t answer, Mr. Stark continued. “Must have been a really big loss,” his tone didn’t convey much sympathy and he continued looking at Peter’s things and not him. “I can understand why you’d maybe stay away from your gig for a bit. Especially when the man responsible for their deaths died under mysterious circumstances.”

Peter knew where this was leading and he didn’t like it one bit.

“I didn’t kill him,” Peter choked out, trying so very hard to hold back all emotions. He’d gotten so good at it when Mr. Mitchell came around, this was no different. Mr. Stark was just a different kind of bully, one that was trying to blackmail Peter into something.

Mr. Stark finally looked up at him. “Sure, of course,” he said with very little care to his voice and he held up a hand when Peter opened his mouth to deny it. “But that’s hardly relevant, honestly. I didn’t come here to force a confession out of you or anything."

“Then why did you come here? Because it sounds to me like you’re trying to blackmail me, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, giving up any fight he might have had in him to deny a thing. Instead, he sat down heavily on the bed. Mr. Stark looked at him, eyeing him up and down as if he was assessing him.

“Your little return to the superhero life got the attention of all the wrong types of people. Usually, SHIELD would be busting in here, making you sign the Accords and shipping you off to one of their training facilities so you can become just another asset to them.”

Peter remained tense at his words. “I’m not interested in being a superhero or a SHIELD Agent.”

Mr. Stark shrugged. “Too late for that now, kid. But listen, on paper you came across as a pretty smart kid and I thought I’d stick my neck out for you.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?” Peter asked. “You don’t even know me and you just accused me of,” Peter hesitated, swallowing roughly, “murder.”

Mr. Stark laughed at what he said, a genuine smile seemed to appear on his face. “When did I say, murder kid? Sounds like you were acting in revenge, that’s a little different. I don’t blame you one bit for that one, God knows I like a good revenge story.”

“So, again, Mr. Stark, what do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Mr. Stark answered quickly. “I want to help you. I’ll give you a nice new suit that isn’t a pair of pajamas. I’ll even bring you out to the Compound to get some formal training and you can stay being a teenager here for just a bit longer. You can even do some spiderling things out there.”

“I don’t know Mr. Stark,” Peter answered. “I don’t want any of that. I’d rather just be Peter Parker if it’s all the same to you.”

Mr. Stark gestured to Peter’s leg which was bent on the bed. “Move your leg I’m going to sit here,” and he did once Peter moved. “It’s a little too late for that now like I said SHIELD got their sights on you. I’m trying to help you here, kid. You’re too young to be thrown into that SHIELD stuff. I told them I’d watch over you, give you a suit, some tips, and some help.”

“What do I have to do in exchange?” Peter questioned. He knew how life worked, you just don’t get handed a suit by Iron Man and offered training. There was a catch. “It can’t just be that easy. You’re not gonna give a 15-year-old a suit, train me, and then just let me out on my own.”

Mr. Stark chuckled. “Yeah, well, you’ll just have to join us on a few missions here and there. Nothing too exciting, trust me. The rest of the time you can deal with some neighborhood drama on the streets, get yourself some safe and easy experience.”

“I don’t know,” Peter answered truthfully, all of this seemed like a nightmare that Mr. Stark was trying to dress up like a dream come true. “Mr. Mitchell doesn’t like it when I’m out late.”

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes “I can deal with your parents.”

“Foster parents,” Peter corrected but then corrected again, “guardians, whatever. What are you going to tell them? They don’t know anything about me and I want to keep it that way.”

“I’m going to tell them about the internship that you’ve won. That’ll be your cover when you’re on patrol and an excuse to take you to the Compound for team training once a month. We can make a long weekend out of it.”

Peter’s heart raced. “The team? As in the Avengers?” He couldn’t help the excitement that covered his voice. He could hide his excitement about Mr. Stark now but knowing he’d have to be in the same room as the Avengers, that just was too much. He was a weird mix of feeling excited and scared out of his mind.

“Yeah, kid.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Mr. Stark seemed to be sick of it. “I can honestly say I didn’t think this would take you this long to make up your mind. I’m offering you a chance to be a real superhero.”

That’s the thing, Peter wanted to say, he didn’t deserve that part of it. “You made it pretty clear I had no choice, so I guess, yeah, I’ll do it,” he hesitated and then, “on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t want anyone to know anything about me. What happened, where I live… I know I can’t keep my identity a secret but I just would rather no one else know anything.”

Mr. Stark gave him a weird look but it lasted a second and then he clapped Peter’s shoulder. “Sure, kid. Whatever.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so very much to Lynx_the_Defier for the wonderful beta. Your insight has made this little story so much better.

The Mitchell’s seemed both annoyed and relieved that Peter would be gone a few times during the week. He didn’t know exactly what Mr. Stark had said to them to get them to agree, but he was sure they were trying to save face in front of the man. The last thing they needed was a CPS visit, especially when Peter was still sporting a few bruises.

Two days later, Mr. Stark sent a driver to bring Peter to the Stark Tower after school. Peter had gotten a text from an unknown number, telling him to look out for someone named Happy Hogan waiting for him outside the school. 

When Peter exited the school that afternoon, there was a big guy in a black suit standing outside an Audi, he stuck out like a sore thumb among the other cars waiting to pick up students. Peter hadn’t seen the guy before, he looked intimidating, but when he spotted Peter, he gave him a small wave. 

Knowing it wasn’t likely, Peter wished Mr. Stark himself had come to get him. He felt slightly better getting into a car with him, over a stranger. 

“Hi,” Peter approached the man and the car. 

“Peter Parker?” The guy questioned, although it seemed he already knew it was him.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Good. I’ll be driving you to the Tower.”

He opened the door and Peter got in. “Thanks, Mr. Hogan.”

There was no more talk between them as they drove and he was happy to avoid small talk. He was trying to keep down some of his nerves. When he got to the Tower, he was to get fitted for a new suit, one that Mr. Stark himself had created. Despite his best efforts, Peter couldn’t hold back the little thrill he felt when walking into the Stark Tower. He’d always dreamed of something like this, but he had to bite back the smile from his face.

When they got to the Tower, Mr. Hogan parked the car in an underground parking lot and had Peter follow behind him through security and into an elevator. Instead of hitting the floor for the labs, he hit one that listed Medical.

“Why are you taking me to the hospital?” Peter asked nervously. The two large bruises on his back, a reminder to keep his mouth shut, weren’t all that explainable. After several months of hiding injuries, he’d become an expert on not showing too much. No matter how much pain he was in, he never limped, never flinched, or even grimaced, it was all masked behind a face of neutrality. 

“Tony’s orders,” Mr. Hogan responded, not even looking at him. When they entered the brightly lit hallway, he took Peter into a small side room with a hospital bed on it and waved his hand at it. “Wait there.”

Dropping his backpack on the floor, he jumped up on the hospital bed as Mr. Hogan left the room. Twitching his thumbs nervously, he waited for someone else to come into the room. He could hear Mr. Hogan standing in the hallway still, apparently unwilling to wait in the same room as Peter.

He heard the sounds of two other people coming off the elevator and tuned out the conversation they were having. He didn’t feel like listening in on it, especially since it was probably about him. HIs enhanced hearing wasn’t all that fun when you got to constantly hear what other people thought of you. 

When the door opened, he wasn’t surprised to see Mr. Stark but he was surprised to see Bruce Banner walking in behind him.

“Oh,” Peter said, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Kid,” Mr. Stark gestured between Bruce and Peter. “This is Bruce Banner, Bruce this is Peter Parker.”

Bruce put out his hand and Peter took it. “Um, hi Mr. Banner, it’s really nice to uh, meet you.”

“Likewise, Peter,” he answered and then let go of Peter’s hand. “Please call me Bruce.”

“Um,” Peter said a little awkwardly. “Why am I here?”

“Everyone gets a physical,” Mr. Stark answered. “It’s a requirement for being on the team.”

Peter turned to Bruce. “I thought you weren’t that kind of doctor.”

Bruce gave him an easy smile. “Yes, I’m not that kind of doctor,” he glanced over at Mr. Stark. “But Tony asked me to come help for today. We want to take a look at your blood and DNA if you don’t mind. Just to get some information about your abilities and to give us a baseline. We have a very dedicated medical staff, one of our doctors will be in after us to give you an actual physical.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Peter said a little dumbly. He was fine with coming up with an excuse for the bruises but with both Bruce and Mr. Stark there, he was feeling a little iffy on how well he could lie. He was hoping both of them would give him some privacy when he got his physical and not stick around. 

Bruce started to gather the items he needed to take Peter’s blood while Mr. Stark sat at one of the chairs. “I’m a big fan of your work,” Peter started, directed towards Bruce. “Your research on gamma radiation is amazing. I really enjoyed the paper you had published a few years ago, on the effects of ionizing radiation on biological molecules.”

Bruce turned and smiled. “Oh, thanks, Peter.” He turned back to look at the items in front of him, before turning his head around a second later. He titled his head to the side and seemed to chuckle to himself. “You’ve read my papers?”

“Yeah, just a few of them. I was always really into it but after the spider bite, it made me more interested in looking at the long-term effects of radiation on DNA. I don’t know a lot about what the spider did to me, but I know radiation was involved.”

Both men gave Peter a strange look. He realized very quickly, he never told anyone how he got his enhancements. Neither of them had any idea as to what Peter was talking about. He could feel his face getting flush and he folded his arms over his chest. 

“You were bitten by a radioactive spider?” Mr. Stark questioned, eyebrows quirked up.

Peter shrugged, rolling his shoulders back. “I guess, yeah. I mean, I didn’t know for sure if it was radioactive the whole thing happened kinda quickly but yeah, I assumed. That’s how I got my abilities.”

“Fascinating,” Bruce said, he pulled up a stool and little cart with supplies over to Peter. “Can I ask what happened after you got bitten? How did your powers manifest? What are your powers actually? Tony didn’t give much information.”

“I got him here,” Mr. Stark interjected as if he was offended by the remark. “I wasn’t told to write his biography.”

“Hold out your arm,” Bruce instructed and Peter did so, rolling up the sleeve of his hoodie to expose the crook of his elbow. Bruce wrapped the tourniquet and began the process of taking blood, ignoring Mr. Stark’s remark.

“I got bitten on a field trip, it was fine at first but then when I got home I started feeling really sick. I thought I was going to die. I had a high fever, chills, cramps, a lot of really bad symptoms for about two days. And then nothing.”

Bruce had the needle in his hand. “Little pinch, okay? I promise I’m actually pretty good at this.”

Peter nodded his head, watching Bruce place the needle and watching the viles fill with blood. “Did you go to the hospital?” Bruce asked when Peter didn’t start speaking again.

“No,” he said truthfully. “I uh, my Aunt and Uncle, we uh, probably couldn’t afford it and I didn’t want to tell them what happened.”

"You dealt with all of that on your own?" Mr. Stark spoke up. Bruce finished taking his blood, putting an Iron Man bandaid over the puncture mark. Peter didn’t bother telling him it was going to be healed in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah,” Peter admitted. It was the most he’d talked to anyone about what happened to him. It almost felt a little unnatural talking about such a closely guarded secret. He never told Ben or May what happened, what he was capable of. Saying such things out loud made him feel a little uncomfortable. 

Bruce had walked over with a large cotton swab. “For DNA samples,” he said and Peter opened his mouth, allowing Bruce to take the samples he needed. When he finished Bruce started again. “After the pain period, your enhancements were just there, or did you go through any mutation stages?”

“They were all there. I woke up one morning, I didn’t need my glasses anymore and I felt different. I found out the hard way I was strong, I could barely control it at first, same with being sticky. It took a few days but eventually, I got control over myself.”

There was more to the story, of course, and more to what exactly he was capable of doing. He felt conflicted a little, about telling them everything. They were the good guys, Peter was confident in that much, but it certainly didn’t mean they automatically had his trust. There was once, a long time ago, when Peter might have been a motor mouth, spilled all of the beans in a gush of excitement in being with two of his idols. But that Peter grew up pretty quickly, learned that just because someone’s nice to you, or someone’s your idol, didn’t mean they couldn’t hurt you.

“How’d the web formula come along? The tensile strength is off the charts. Who manufactured it?” Mr. Stark asked, sounding more interested than he had been since he met Peter.

“I did,” Peter admitted. “I created it on my own, with chemicals from my high school.”

“Impressive, kid.”

Peter couldn’t quite read the look on Mr. Stark’s face. It wasn’t the almost bored expression he’d had before, but instead, he had a very slight grin. 

A soft knock on the door caused all three individuals to turn their heads and look. A moment later a woman clad in a lab coat and stethoscope peaked her head in the room. Peter didn’t need to be told she was a doctor, she partially screamed stereotypical doctor.

“Hello!” She greeted them. “Ready for me yet?”

“Patient is all yours, Grace,” Bruce said, returning her friendly smile. “I’ve got the blood and DNA samples that I need.”

“Good,” the doctor, whose first name Peter assumed was Grace, stepped into the room. She walked over to Peter and offered her hand. “Hi Mr. Parker, my name is Dr. Grace Styles, I’ll be doing your physical today.”

“Hi,” Peter said, shaking her hand. “Uh, call me Peter, please.”

“Sure Peter,” she looked over to Mr. Stark, who was still sitting on the stool. “Tony,” she addressed him, “do you mind heading out until I’m finished?”

Mr. Stark looked mildly offended but shrugged, getting up to leave as Bruce was too. Mr. Stark told Dr. Styles to send Peter up to the lab when she was finished with him. Once they left, the door shut behind them, Dr. Styles offered Peter another reassuring smile.

“I hope you don’t mind, he can be a bit much. That and this is your first physical, I wanted you to feel as comfortable as possible. Tony sent over your medical records but they aren’t very recent, so I’m going to ask you some imposing questions.”

When the questions started, Peter was thankful she had asked Mr. Stark to leave the room. She went through a lot of things, family history (most of which he had to answer with a shrug), his personal health history (a lot less shrugging there with equal amounts blushing when the topic of sexual history came up). She didn’t press him when he didn’t know an answer and in turn, he tried to tell her the truth about what he did know. 

The physical part of the exam was easy enough, it was only when Dr. Styles noticed the bruise on his back did she seem concerned. 

“What happened?” She asked, very carefully lowering Peter’s shirt from where she had lifted, to listen to his lungs as he breathed.

“It was from uh when I stopped the car,” he lied. All of the bruises from that ordeal had long healed, due in part to his fast healing. The ones she noticed had been from the night before, but they were healed enough for his story to be plausible. 

Dr. Styles looked as if she believed him with a nod. “I understand you might have enhanced healing?”

“Yeah,” Peter answered. “But it’s not like immediate or anything. I haven’t really tested it out yet, to be honest.”

She laughed. “Well, between you and me I hope we never have to test that part out either.”

One of the final parts of the exam was the easiest but Peter had been dreading it anyway. Dr. Styles had Peter hop up on a scale, weighing him and getting his height. A look of concern appeared on her face once he was weighed and he couldn’t blame her, the number on the scale was a lot lower than it ever had been.

Once Peter was seated back on the table, she pulled up a stool and took a seat. “Well, from what I can see you’re in relatively good health, Peter. However, I’m sure you know, you are underweight. It’s not dangerous right now, but I would like you to gain some weight back.”

“Yeah, well, uh, my foster parents don’t know I’m Spider-man and they don’t know that I uh, need to eat more,” he answered, only partially true. They didn’t feed him enough period, but she didn’t need to know that. 

She nodded. “I can understand that,” she paused and looked thoughtful. “Would it be okay if we created a meal plan for you? You can eat what you can while at your foster family’s home but we need to give you supplements as well. We’ve created bars for other individuals with similar metabolisms and I’m sure we can figure something out for you.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “That would be okay.”

“Good. I’ll speak with Bruce about it later. We’re going to work on the baseline for your metabolism too since we’re going on the assumption you’ll need special medication too.” She stood up and offered her hand out again. “We’re done now, thank you for being a model patient.”

“Thanks,” Peter replied, taking her hand again. “It was nice to meet you.”

Dr. Styles directed him out of the door and towards the elevator. Once inside, he let the doors shut without hitting the floor number she gave him. He took several deep breaths, the nerves were still present. He’d just dodged several bullets with Dr. Styles, and he had no idea what was waiting for him in the lab. He tapped his fingers against the elevator’s sleek walls before finally reaching over and hitting the button for the lab’s floor.

When the elevator arrived at his destination, he had to shake his hands out, trying to force out the jittery feeling. He walked down the hall, stopping at a large room with an open door on his right. When he looked inside, Mr. Stark was leaning over a messy table, music was softly playing throughout the room and there was a strong smell of coffee and motor oil.

Awkwardly standing in the door frame, he thought about knocking on the open door or clearing this throat but his nerves got the best of him. The only thing he could do was stand there, unsure and awkward, hoping Mr. Stark would notice him.

“Woah, kid,” Mr. Stark said when he did look up and catch sight of Peter’s awkwardness. “Don’t get all creepy on me, alright? Come on in. I take it the physical went well?”

“Yeah,” Peter walked into the lab, trying not to be nosey and look around at the same time. He could see a new Spider-man suit draped over another table.

“Good, good. Now, this is what you’re really here for,” Mr. Stark directed him to the table the suit was on. He lifted it, as to show Peter what it looked like. It was nothing like his homemade suit, this one was elegant, clean lines, and featured a pattern of spider webs with a spider emblem in the center. The colors, however, stayed the same. 

“Cool,” Peter said, trying to contain his awe.

“More than just cool, kid,” Mr. Stark handed the suit to him. “Put her on. The fabric is special, it’ll conform to fit your body once you hit the spider. I’ll make some adjustments as we see fit. Since I didn’t have a sample of your web fluid, I had to guess at how your shooters worked. If there’s anything weird about it, we’ve got the night to work it out.”

Peter took the suit and stood still, not sure where he was supposed to change. Mr. Stark just kept looking at him and he realized he was expected to drop pants where he stood. “Where’s the uh, bathroom?” He asked mildly, the flush of embarrassment coloring his face.

“Oh, out the door and at the end of the hallway on your left. You can just change in here, you know.”

“Yeah but uh, I just, well, it’s,” Peter started to ramble, not knowing how to get out of it. Mr. Stark seemed to take pity on him and made a shooing motion with his hand. He hurried off to the bathroom and quickly changed into the new suit. It was a little awkward at first, but the fabric was so light and comfortable, it was almost as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. He experimentally stuck his hand to the wall as it stuck just like it would have had he used his bare hand.

Mr. Stark grinned when he walked back in. “Nice,” he said when Peter stopped in front of him. He offered up the mask he was holding. “I noticed the original suit you had used goggles, I’m assuming to help you see better?”

“Yeah, uh my senses are a bit dialed up. It’s something hard to focus on things, the goggles helped make it easier.”

“Ah, good. I incorporated something similar in the mask. It also has built-in communication to FRIDAY, my AI as well as automatic radio communication with any of the team when needed. You have your own AI, alright? She’s not as advanced as FRIDAY by any means, but she’s there to help you.”

Peter took the mask and put it on. It was dark at first and then a HUD came over him, allowing him a view of the room, along with other information. It was a lot to take in at once and it took Peter a minute or so before he was able to focus on a few different things. Mr. Stark hadn’t started talking again until Peter looked up at him. “This, this is too much.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Stark said. “It’s 100% better than what you had to begin with. When it comes to superhero stuff, there’s never anything too much.”

Peter was still shocked at what he was wearing. The HUD gave him information on his vitals, along with the amount of web fluid he had left (which was currently at zero percent). He looked down at the built-in web-shooters, giving the button a squeeze of his fingers.

“If those need adjusting, just let me know. I didn’t have your originals, I built them from the video we had of you.”

“Hello, Peter.” A female voice greeted him in surround sound. Despite the robotic nature of the voice, her tone was kind and gentle. For a second it sounded like May’s voice and Peter’s heart dropped in his chest. But when she spoke again, he realized it was just wishful thinking. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Woah,” he said out loud and Mr. Stark chuckled. “Hi uh, suit lady.”

“That’s your AI. Be nice to her,” he warned. “She’s set up to assist you and walk you through training when you’re ready. She’ll also be with you when you’re out on the streets. Think of her as your babysitter.”

Peter spent several more minutes looking over aspects of the suit, with his AI’s guidance. There were a lot of features, maybe Peter thought, a little too many. The AI went on a fast-paced tour of his different menu options, from the different kinds of webs he could do to the various types of enhancements the suit lent him. The bombardment of information made his head spin, it seemed Mr. Stark had really pulled out all the bells and whistles.

On some level, Peter knew a suit by Tony Stark would be impressive, but he didn’t think he would have put this much care into something that wasn't an Iron Man suit. Did Peter really deserve something like this? He was a 15-year-old kid who was barely holding the pieces of his life together, should he have something this powerful?

Mr. Stark seemed to be expecting a lot out of him, the thought overwhelmed Peter so much he had to pull the mask off. The suit itself was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him, he hardly felt all that deserving.

“So uh, what do you want me to do exactly? I still don’t know what you really want from me.”

“Like I said,” Mr. Stark said with a shrug. “Go patrolling after school, help some little old ladies cross the street, give directions, save cats from trees… y’know, looking out for the little guy stuff.”

Peter merely shrugged his shoulders in response. Maybe when he first started that’s what he wanted, but he did a pretty crap job of it the first time around. He didn’t think a fancy suit and AI would make much of a difference. 

“Happy will pick you up Saturday afternoon and take you to the Compound. You’ll get your orientation done and starting Monday you can hit the streets. Now take off the suit, I want you to make some of your web fluid so we can test it in the system.”

Working with Tony Stark had been an experience Peter thought he’d never, ever be lucky enough to have. Mr. Stark seemed to pick up on every little issue and work this way through the problem quickly and efficiently. Together the two of them reproduced his web fluid and made sure that it worked within his new web-shooters. Mr. Stark kept the suit when it was time for Peter to leave, saying he wanted to work on tweaking a few more elements now that he had a better understanding of Peter’s abilities.

The good thing Peter had from just wearing the suit and working with Mr. Stark shattered the second he stepped into the Mitchell’s house. Since Peter arrived home well after dinner, the Mitchell’s had to fend for themselves, leaving nothing behind for Peter to eat. Mr. Stark hadn’t offered Peter any food either, he probably assumed the kid would eat at home. Instead, Peter was greeted with dishes and a mess left for him to clean up.

~*~

Visiting the cemetery wasn’t the easiest to do but Peter always made the effort.

When he was at the group home, he could sometimes slip away and make the trek out to Forest Hills, but with the Mitchell’s it became much harder. The walk would take almost two hours one way, public transportation was the only choice and that trip could take almost two hours on bad days too.

After his trip to the Tower, he needed to talk to his family again. Putting on a suit again, becoming Spider-man opened up a world of emotions he’d worked so hard on trying to keep inside. The bus trip from Bayside took a full hour, Peter kept his head against the window, letting the cold air keep him feeling calm and collected.

Getting off the bus, he shivered as he walked the rest of the half-mile to the small cemetery, he was far too familiar with. Walking through the iron gates, he could remember being seven years old and holding Ben’s hand as they stood, waiting for the hurst to arrive. He could see himself, standing in a suit way too big, hair falling in his eyes and he said goodbye to his parents and then, only a few years later, goodbye to his aunt and uncle. 

There were more Parkers buried in the grounds, his paternal grandparents he’d never even met, along with a few other long-gone relatives. Richard and Mary shared a headstone and next to them, so did Ben and May. Peter often wondered where they would put him when he died if there weren’t any other Parkers around, who would make sure Peter was with his family? Would he get a headstone next to them? 

“Hi Mom, Dad, Ben, May,” he said softly into the cold afternoon air. An elderly couple stood a row down from him, he could hear the woman weeping loudly. He crossed ankles and sat down between the four graves. The dirt and grass would stain his jeans, but he didn’t care. Sitting down with them was a connection, a memory of being six years old around a dinner table, surrounded by his actual family. 

“So, uh, I miss you all very much and I’m sorry I haven’t visited lately. I’m all the way out in Bayside, but uh, I think I told you that last time too. Sorry I don’t have flowers or anything. Next time, I promise.”

It was unfair, in a way, that he was so used to talking to graves. Ben made sure to take him to visit his parents often, always encouraging Peter to tell them stories and bring them things. It was only fitting that he would do the same for Ben and May now too.

“Anyway uh, well, Tony Stark, he came and visited me at the Mitchell’s,” he laughed a little, “I know right, Tony Stark! Of all people to just show up! He’s kinda short in person, honestly. And well, I mean he wasn’t super nice but he seems like a good person. He’s Iron Man, so I guess he’s got to be right?

“But anyway, he offered me an internship…,” he trailed, looking around for other people that might be close enough to hear him. When there was no one around, he continued. “Well, that’s the cover story he actually told me I could be an Avenger one day. He made me this really cool suit, it’s … you guys, it’s amazing. He’s letting me go out and be a superhero, a real one, he wants me to help people.”

He had to take two shaky breaths, before speaking again. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he hugged his arms around himself. “If that’s okay with you guys, I mean. I know it’s… I know I didn’t do a good job the first time around but uh, I’ll do better. I promise you guys, I’ll do much better. He wants to train me, you know? So I can know what to do next time something… something happens.”

Tears wouldn’t do him any good, but it’s not as if they’d listen to him anyway. “I feel like I need to help people, y’know? Since I didn’t before, because if something bad happens and I could have stopped it but I don’t, then, then it’s my fault that bad thing happened. Right? When I do nothing, bad things happen and I don’t want anyone else to have to deal with things. Right?”

When he was little he used to pretend his parents could answer him and would come up with voices in his head that best matched his parents. Now, it was different, he didn’t know what any of them would say to him. Everything that’s happened, that was happening, was so far out of ordinary, would they even know how to help him? Would they even really want to help him if they knew how weak and pathetic he was?

The decision to never, ever tell them about the Mitchell’s was one he made immediately. Even in death, he didn't want them to worry about him. He didn’t want them to know anything was wrong, it wasn’t their faults they left him. Logically he knew if they were watching him they knew everything, but it still didn't mean he had to say it outloud.

“Do I even deserve a second chance?”

The question hung in the air for a while and eventually Peter left without his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://asyouleft.Tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Lynx_the_Defier for the continued beta support. :) :)
> 
> There's a Batman joke in here that I am very, very fond of even if no one else notices it, lol.

Meeting the Avengers wasn’t exactly what Peter thought it would be like.

In fact, it was anti-climatic in every sense of the word.

Seeing the Compound was the most exciting part. Walking into the large clean building, with Mr. Hogan walking behind him was just as exciting as walking into Stark Tower. Never in his wildest dreams, did he ever think he’d get a chance to go inside. There wasn’t any kind of grand tour, Mr. Hogan took him into what looked like the public entrance, but towards the section of the building that looked like it was more of the private corridors. Passing through a lot of security, Peter wasn’t given any identification, he just trailed behind Mr. Hogan as if he was a lost puppy.

After going through a set of high-tech metal detectors and through a set of big metal doors, he caught sight of Mr. Stark standing around, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. After performing a silent handoff, Peter then trailed behind Mr. Stark. 

Mr. Stark didn’t offer a tour, or any commentary besides a quick hello. They walked down a long hallway, stopping at the last door on the left side. “This is yours,” Mr. Stark commented, as he opened the door.

The room wasn’t gigantic, but it was a lot bigger than what he had at the Mitchell’s. However, it was just as devoid of personality. He vaguely wondered if he could make it his own, but Mr. Stark didn’t mention it to him, instead merely pointing out a few things and nothing else. This really wasn’t Peter’s personal space, it was space he was borrowing one weekend a month.

Peter didn’t harbor any delusions about coming to the Compound. He wasn’t expecting a giant Welcome sign, a party, or even people looking excited to meet him, but he didn't expect, well, something a little different. He looked up to the Avengers, and like most people, though they were some kind of happy family living together in domestic bliss at the Compound.

What Peter discovered instead, was a Compound full of people who weren’t the Avenger. After seeing his room and dropping off his overnight belongings, Mr. Stark brought him out of the private area and into the public building. After passing through several more hallways they ended up in a small conference room, where Bruce and Dr. Styles were waiting for them.

They talked to Peter for a while, went over some of the test results from his blood and DNA. It was all very interesting, if not a little boring. They provided him with a few protein bars, Mr. Stark was in the process of getting more made. He felt guilty taking them, they expected him to gain weight but he doubted he would. The meal bars would become full meal replacements for him, not additions. The only hope he had was that they would help him feel full most of the time, instead of starving.

He was grateful nonetheless.

The conversation moved on to their efforts to synthesize medication for him to take, for both pain relief and to knock him out if necessary. The science was a little beyond him, but it made him feel warm and fuzzy knowing how much effort they were putting into it. There was no way he’d ever be able to repay them for it. 

Afterward, he was handed off to a few other doctors, a lot of which Peter barely got names from. They brought him into an empty training room, where they wanted to observe him in action. Mr. Stark showed him to the changing rooms and gave him a half-hearted wave.

“This is where I leave you,” he said, already turning on his heels.

“You're not staying?” Peter asked in a small childish voice, he hated instantly. He cleared his throat, trying to play off the question with a shrug. “I mean, you don’t have to or anything.”

“Don’t need to kid, you’re in good hands. Dinner should be ready by the time you're done,” Mr. Stark responded as he left the room.

After changing and standing awkwardly in the middle of the gym, Peter was told to start doing a lot of boring exercises. Not wanting to ask questions, he did what he was told to do. One of the doctors, Dr. Reinheart eventually explained that they were attempting to find a baseline for Peter’s abilities. They were also using exercise as a way to further test his metabolism, to work on both medication and the meal bars for him.

To Peter, it felt more like they were putting him through gym class.

Before the spider bite, Peter wasn't an exercise person and that didn’t change one bit afterward. He didn’t even like participating in gym class, even if they were just walking the track. Doing anything physical always made him feel super awkward. Having people standing around with clipboards, whispering about you, and taking notes, didn’t make anything better.

The physical element didn’t bother him, he was more than capable of doing the sit-ups, planks, and pushups they directed him to do. 

The worst, however, turned out to be the treadmill. 

After being given a 15-minute break to “catch his breath” he really didn’t need, they started to put a weird mask over his face. It fit tightly over his nose and mouth, not allowing any breathing to escape. Dr. Reinheart explained that it was used to measure his breathing levels while he exercised, which in turn, gave them information on his metabolism.

Once the device was secure on Peter’s face and the other end was plugged into a computer, they began the test. They started him on the treadmill at a low speed for 10 minutes, before moving him up in both speed and incline.

“Alright, Peter,” Dr. Reinheart said to him, as Peter walked briskly. “Every 10 minutes we’re going to have you tell us how you’re doing with his chart.” He held up a clipboard, a piece of paper was taped to the back, showing a smiley face chart. “On a scale of one to ten, with one being you can go at this pace all day long, time decreases as you go up, with ten meaning you need to stop right away. Try being as honest as you can, if it’s getting too difficult, please make sure you tell us.”

It took an hour of slowly moving up his speed and incline before he moved to a three on the chart. Judging by the whispering and looks on everyone’s faces, they weren’t expecting the test to go on as long as it was. Peter hoped it meant they’d let him stop soon. He wasn’t lying, he wasn’t very tired yet, he was, however, feeling like a lab rat. They didn’t give him anything to pass the time, all he could do was stare straight ahead and try not to eavesdrop on whispered conversations. 

Another 45 minutes later, he moved to a five and they finally let him stop for the day. Dr. Reinheart walked with him up until he got to the private area, leaving Peter on his own to find his way back to his room. It took a little longer than Peter hoped it would, the hallways all looked the same and he didn’t run into a single person on his way around. Finally, after what felt like at last a half hour, he found the correct bedroom.

He was tired, sweaty, and starving by the time he walked in. To his relief, each bedroom had a small ensuite to it and he found the hot shower to be the best part of his entire month. He stayed until his fingers became prunes and he didn’t care one bit, Tony Stark could afford a high water bill. 

When he exited his room, he mostly wandered the halls until he found himself in a large kitchen a few levels down. Not running into a single person, meant that Peter couldn’t really ask for directions. He knew enough not to walk into the more public area, trying his best to stick to the private part of the Compound. He wished Mr. Stark had given him a tour, or maybe even some kind of map so he could make his way around. Was he really expected to just wander around until he found stuff on his own? Was Mr. Stark waiting for him somewhere else and Peter just missed that part of the conversation?

The kitchen was empty and clean and Peter stood awkwardly by the island, trying to decide what he should do. No one directly told him he could eat whatever he wanted, but Mr. Stark had mentioned dinner to him before the tests. It didn’t look as if anyone had eaten down there, or was going to anytime soon. With a loud growl, Peter’s stomach seemingly answered the question for him and he decided that he needed to eat, with or without permission. 

After 10 minutes of rummaging, he came out of the large pantry with a box of noodles, set on making himself some mac and cheese. Hoping up on the kitchen island, he sat on his phone while the water boiled.

Hearing footsteps down the hallway, he jumped off the island trying to make himself look as relaxed as possible. A second later, Wanda walked into the kitchen with a tall older man he didn’t recognize following in behind her. She had been midword when she walked in and stopped talking the second Peter came into view.

“Oh,” she said looking at him, eyes roaming up and down. Peter had seen her on the TV before and in pictures, but he was surprised at how short she was in person. She was also in casual clothing, something he hadn’t seen before. The man next to her was almost a foot taller than she was, also dressed casually. He looked oddly familiar but Peter couldn’t place him.

“Um,” he said in response. He wasn’t sure if they knew who he was, if Mr. Stark had bothered telling the Avengers about him or if he was to get through this completely on his own. Right now he was just some random kid standing in the kitchen of one of the most secure buildings in the world. He had no idea how he’d explain himself if she had no clue who he was.

“You must be Peter Parker,” the man said in a slight British accent, he smiled and extended a hand out to Peter. “I am Vision and this is Wanda.”

Peter blinked hard a few times, before realizing he was staring at him, he moved forward and took Vision’s hand. “Um, yeah, I’m, uh, Peter. Wow, it’s uh, nice to meet you.” He took Wanda’s hand next.

“You’re the new member of our team, yeah?” She asked in a slightly accented voice, there was almost a hint of apprehension in her voice. Wondering if she could sense the nerves coming from him, he tried to straight himself and stop his jitteriness. 

“Yeah I guess,” Peter said, taking a step back towards the stove, he could hear the water starting to boil. “I’m uh, making dinner,” he said awkwardly. “Mac and cheese, if you’re interested?”

Vision, who Peter was still trying to wrap his head around looking like a well, normal human, gave him a polite smile. “No thank you, Peter, I do not require food and Wanda ate earlier with the team.”

Turning to face the stove and avoid having them see the disappointed look on his face, Peter just nodded his head and started adding his noodles to his pot. He figured they’d eaten without him, but somehow hearing the news just made him feel much worse.

“Did Stark not tell you about team dinners?” Wanda asked he could see her walking towards the fridge out of the corner of his eye.

“Uh, not really, no. I was uh, doing my endurance testing until about an hour ago.” He kept his eyes firmly on the pot as he spoke, stirring the noodles. Wanda, meanwhile reached into the fridge and emerged with a bottle of water.

“Stark forgets stuff sometimes. I’m sure he meant to tell you but just so you know, we all try to eat dinner together on the weekends. It doesn’t always work out but we try to get together around 5 or so. You’re welcome to eat with us then or whenever, actually. Did Stark tell you anything at all?”

“Not really,” Peter said, breaking up the clump of noodles in his pot. “He just sort of dropped me off at the gym and left.”

Wanda chuckled. “If I would have known Stark abandoned you, I would have come and found you. He didn’t give us much information on you either, said you were around somewhere. He’s not the best sometimes, he didn’t even join us for dinner, if it makes you feel better.”

It both did and didn’t. Peter was used to this, it was what he came to accept and expect from people. But yet at the same time, there was a little part of him that still craved the idea and comfort of what having a team would be like. And that included eating dinner together as one big happy superhero family, as unrealistic as it might be.

“It’s okay,” Peter settled on saying after a few moments of silence. There was no use in acting like a sad little kid. There was no way he was going to look even younger around the already older team. It was just inviting them to treat him like a child. 

“Vis and I are going on a walk, would you like to join us after you eat?” 

“Nah,” Peter said, willing himself to sound as casual as possible. “They had me on a treadmill all day so I was gonna rest when I finished eating. Thanks anyway.”

“Of course,” Vision answered. “If you need anything, please let us know. Your room is next to mine, I am available all the time since I don’t require sleep.”

After Peter assured them he was fine again and would be heading up to bed after eating, they left for their walk.

It wasn’t a lie, at least not in the way that counted. 

~*~

Sunday morning, when he walked downstairs and into the kitchen close to 8:30 am, Wanda and Vision were already in there. Wanda was standing at the counter, making pancakes, while Vision sat at the table. The sounds of their laughter echoed down the hallway. His heart ached a little, it reminded him way too much of walking into the kitchen to May and Ben’s laughter in the mornings. 

He felt partly guilty walking in on them but they both gave him an enthusiastic hello when he did.

“Pancakes?” Wanda questioned, she was using magic to pour the batter into a hot pan and Peter was a little memorized. He’d never seen anything like it before, it left him a little awed. A flush spread across his cheeks when he realized he’s been staring, he tore his eyes away to give Wanda a nod.

“Sure,” he answered, taking a seat across from Vision. “Thanks.”

“Are you enjoying your stay so far?” Vision asked. He looked the same as he did the day before, a normal human. Peter wanted to ask him about it, but couldn’t quite find a way to ask him. Truthfully, he didn’t know a lot about Vision or Wanda, just the very little the media learned put out about the two Avengers. There were several dozen questions in his head, none of which he had enough guts to ask. 

“Uh, yeah. I haven’t um, seen much I guess. I don’t know what I’m even doing today.”

“I believe Stark intends for you to demonstrate your ability for the team,” Vision supplied. Peter’s eyes widened and he swallowed heavily. That didn't sound like fun for him, he spent the day before, under the spotlight, he didn't want it again. “Don’t worry,” Vision continued. “It will be harmless.”

“It’s not everyone anyway.” Wanda floated a plate of pancakes over, landing it in front of Peter before turning back to the stovetop. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was in a Disney movie suddenly. 

“Thanks,” he said to her, not picking up his fork, deciding to wait until she was eating as well. Instead, he started smothering his pancakes in the butter and maple syrup that was already on the table. “Is it always this empty around here?” He asked, going with a question that didn’t seem to sound stupid or childish, at least, he hoped.

“Sometimes,” Wanda answered. “Right now just Vis, Bruce, and I are here full time. Sam, Bucky, and Steve all have apartments in the city, they only come by when needed. I think Nat technically lives here, but she’s a ghost most of the time even when she’s around. Rhodey’s never lived here but when Stark’s around, you’ll see him more. Stark splits his time between here and the Tower. Clint’s retired, but not really. You’ll see him today for sure. Thor’s with his people but he’s a frequent visitor too.”

“Cool,” Peter answered, as Wanda brought over her own plate of pancakes. Sitting down next to Vision, she wasted very little time in starting to eat what was on her plate.

“There are a few others,” she added, after eating a piece of pancake, “who aren’t official members like you. They don’t come around too often, not unless the world’s ending.”

Peter dove into his plate of pancakes, as she spoke. They were delicious, reminding him even more of his old home life. Ben used to make him Mickey Mouse pancakes every morning before school when he was a kid. Ben would always put copious amounts of whip cream on them and, when May wasn’t looking, let Peter spray the can directly into his mouth.

The memory made him smile fondly and his heartache just a little. It’d been so long since he had a homemade breakfast like this. 

They continued to eat in relative silence. It was a little unnerving for Vision to be just sitting there, watching the two of them. He must have sensed something because he spoke up a few seconds later. “I’m sure you have many questions. Feel free to ask them, about the Avengers, or perhaps about my appearance.”

“Oh,” Peter blushed. “Uhh, yeah, I mean, I guess anytime I’ve seen you, you looked,” he gestured at him, a vague hand wave, “different.”

“Yes, I usually do look different, however after some discussion with Wanda and the others, I realized that I could change my appearance to look more human. It seems to make people feel… more comfortable around me.”

“Vis,” Wanda said softly, she reached out and placed her hand on Vision’s. They shared a look that Peter figured meant something significant to both of them. Not wanting to bring up any negativity, Peter dropped that line of questioning.

The sound of footsteps down the hallway, made him perk up in his seat a little more. He turned his head towards the door just as Mr. Stark walked in. He was clutching a coffee cup in his hand, his signature shades adorned his face but he was dressed far more casual than Peter had ever seen him in a pair of jeans and a well-worn t-shirt. 

“Mornin’,” he said in a tired voice before heading straight over to the coffee machine. He made no other attempts at conversation, so Peter went back to eating his pancakes. 

“Stark, why didn’t you tell Peter what he was doing today?” Wanda asked right away. Peter didn’t look away from his plate, mostly out of embarrassment. He didn’t want Mr. Stark to think he complained about anything. Fighting the urge to curl in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible, he focused on stabbing the last of his pancakes with his fork.

“Eh,” Mr. Stark started, Peter could hear him tutting around the coffee machine. “Thought the kid would like a surprise.”

Peter did not like surprises but he didn’t say anything to that, he just shrugged his shoulders. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I uh, do I need anything?”

“I’ve got your suit,” Mr. Stark answered. “When you’re finished with breakfast, head up to the lab. I want to do a quick fitting and test run before you show off.”

Peter finally looked up from his plate, catching Mr. Stark’s eye. He gave the man a nod of understanding. More questions were brimming inside of him, but he didn’t bother to ask anything. It seemed Mr. Stark wasn’t willing to divulge anything other information and left the room without another word.

Choosing to ignore the looks of sympathy Wanda and Vision were giving him, he quickly finished the last few bites of his breakfast. 

~*~

The suit fitting turned out to be a good thing. Adjustments had been made to the suit, everything fit a little better, even the web-shooters were a little more comfortable. Mr. Stark directed him to shoot off a few webs before the main event went down in the training room. After a few last-minute kinks were worked out, Mr. Stark escorted him to a large training room.

Squeezing his hand into a fist to avoid drumming his fingers everywhere, Peter tried to push down the sudden nerves. He instantly regretted eating a big breakfast as his stomach lurched a little as he walked into the room.

Standing by the door, talking amongst themselves, stood most of the Avengers. The whole team was there, the sight of them being so casual and … well, normal looking, all out of costume, sent a spark of anxiety through Peter. 

Having spent most of his childhood watching them on TV, seeing the real-life superheroes in person was a little shock. They all looked so painfully normal, which made him feel even more awkward as he stood there in his tight superhero costume. He felt like a little kid in a Halloween costume, waiting for the grownups to take him out trick or treating.

“Guys,” Mr. Stark announced, “this is Spider-man, also known as Peter Parker.”

Mr. Stark did not introduce the team, which Peter didn’t really need. Waving his hand and offering a smile, Peter really wished he had his mask to hide behind. There was no way everyone in the room didn’t see the blush covering his cheeks and ears. Mr. Stark was talking again, Peter missed most of the conversation as he tried to keep his nerves in check. Freaking out in front of the team on his first day was on his agenda.

Mr. Stark gestured towards the center of the room. “Alright spider kid, showtime.”

Pulling the mask over his face, he was unsure where he should even start. The suit AI greeted home warmly and Peter decided it was now or never to get into the swing of things, literally. It had been well over a year since Peter last swung around anywhere. While the little bit he did after the fitting helped, he was in a much bigger space now, with much more room to get around. He started out a little slowly, catching a web onto the high ceiling and swinging to the other side of the room. On his way back, he started to feel more natural with his actions, picking up the speed just a little. He could see the Avengers look over at him, their attention focused solely on Peter moving across the training room.

Feeling a little surge of confidence, he added a few small acrobatic moves into the mix. Someone whistled as he did a black flip off one of the rafters, catching himself a few feet from hitting the ground. It was enjoyable, the freedom of movement, his body relaxing into things, the tense and nervously slowly seeping away. 

A loud whistle from Mr. Stark got his attention and he started to swing back towards the group. Just as he started to move, his attention was suddenly diverted, his spider sense alerting him to incoming danger.

The danger just so happened to be Captain America’s shield, hurtling quickly straight at Peter.

He was hanging from one of the rafters, one-handed but had enough time to shoot out a web, connecting to the shield. It did not stop the shield’s forward momentum, but Peter was able to change its trajectory instead. While it helped, the shield was still moving too fast, and maybe, had Peter not been so rusty, he could have found a way to counter the movement.

Instead, the pull of the shield was too much and he lost his grip on the web he’d been holding. Peter fell along with the shield, landing on his butt on the ground. The drop wasn’t too far, he was already swinging low when he caught the shield. 

He wasn’t down for long, he jumped up on his feet, feeling embarrassed as he heard Mr. Stark and Mr. Roger’s shouting. “I’m fine,” he called out, walking over to the two of them. “I’m fine.”

“Good catch,” Mr. Rogers said, a big smile on his face. “Not many could catch that.”

“This thing does not obey the laws of physics, Mr. Rogers,” Peter quipped and with some reluctance tossed the shield back over.

“Where are you from?” Mr. Rogers asked. The rest of the Avengers were standing a little away still and Peter could feel their attention on him. He tried very hard to block out the conversations they knew they were having and to stay focused. “And please, call me Steve. Or Cap, if you’re inclined.”

“Queens,” he replied. 

“Brooklyn,” Steve responded and Peter nodded. He knew very well where Steve Rogers was from, born and raised. He’d been a big Captain America fan growing up, he had a big poster of him and a few of his action figures. He’d used to pit him and Iron Man against each other, as a kid. Wore his Captain American pjs to bed most nights, complete with a matching shield pillow. He knew everything about the Avengers, but it wasn’t as if he was going to tell them any of that.

Before Peter could find himself in an awkward conversation, Mr. Stark began to explain Peter’s abilities to the rest of the group, while having Peter show off a little more. It was awkward, he went back to feeling like a lab experiment, but at least they didn’t put him back on a treadmill. 

~*~

With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Peter made his way down the hallway towards the front door. He was both relieved to be done with the weekend but not anticipating going back to the Mitchell’s. He spent the weekend being a glorified science experiment, both with and without the team around. They seemed to respect him, or at least appreciate his abilities in some aspect. The rest of the time he spent alone in his room while it might not have been a vast improvement from being alone in his room at the Mitchell’s, he didn’t feel he had to be constantly worried. 

Some part of him knew he should be feeling good about things but his anxiety was refusing to let go of the hold it had on his gut. It sat there like a brick, a constant reminder that things could and would inevitably go wrong. All it took was one slip up, one mistake, and everything could be taken away from him. Sometimes he thought it wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth being happy now, just knowing it could be taken away from him again. 

Before he got to the end of the hallway, he caught wind of his name. He usually tuned out other people’s private conversations but his overwhelming need to know what was being said took over the rational part of his brain. He moved further down the hallway but stopped before he could be seen by those waiting by the door.

“Isn’t he kind of young?” He could hear Steve asking. 

Mr. Stark snorted. “That’s rich coming from the kid who tried to sneak into the army when he was 11.”

“That’s different,” Steve’s tone was defensive, but without seeing his face, it was hard to tell. 

“He wanted to join,” Mr. Stark replied, “he was playing a superhero on his own. Better he hangs out with us then get sent to whatever training ground SHIELD has.”

“What about his family?” Steve asked and Peter held his breath, waiting for Mr. Stark’s response.

“He’s an orphan.”

Peter deflated. The Avengers were going to think he was just some poor charity case now, little orphan Peter with no family to speak of. 

“Tony,” Steve’s voice got quieter, Peter could barely hear him. “You can’t go around adopting orphans and making them into superhero sidekicks.”

“First of all,” Mr. Stark started, sounding just as offended as Peter felt, “I’m not adopting anyone, secondly, he’s not my sidekick. If anyone is my sidekick it’s Rhodey. Listen, he’s just here as backup, alright? I’d rather have someone like Spider-man on our side instead of in SHIELD’s grasps, y’know? We just need to humor the kid, train him a little, and hope that if something goes down, we can have him on our side.”

Peter really didn’t need to hear anything else, he turned away and went back towards the elevator doors. He meant nothing to Mr. Stark, he had already thought that much, he really did but hearing it made it all the worse. He wasn’t expecting the man to like him, or want to mentor him or anything, but he just… he thought maybe he could be part of something while he was here.

His breathing picked up, his lungs barely taking in enough air. Mr. Mitchell was right, wasn’t he? The thoughts completely overwhelmed his brain, taking all available space. He was just a waste of space, he wasn’t important enough to anyone. He sprailed, his mind racing in circles, why would he ever think the Avengers would want him on a team? He was a complete joke. He could barely do anything correctly, why would they want him to play pretend superhero?

His hand connected with the hall, the cold surface working to jolt him back to awareness. He couldn’t afford to panic now, not with Mr. Stark and Steve just at the end of the hall. They could come looking for him at any time and Peter didn’t need to give them any other reasons to dismiss him.

He took several deep breaths, or at least, tried to. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something, anything that wasn’t Mr. Mitchell’s loud and intrusive voice. He thought about Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep again. He was so close to finishing the story, only a handful of pages from the ending. He wished more than ever that May was still around, he had so many unanswered questions about Rick and the frog he’d just found in the road. The story didn’t seem to be heading towards a happy ending, at least not the conventional one. Did he even want the story to end happily? Wouldn’t it be realistic if everything didn’t go well for Rick and Iran? He knew, at least, the Androids weren’t the ones getting a happy ending.

With his breathing evening out, Peter opened his eyes and took the last few steps down the hallway. To his relief, it was just Mr. Stark waiting for him, a sleek silver suitcase in his hands.

“About time,” Mr. Stark said as Peter came closer, he just shrugged and gave a mumbled sorry in return. “This is for you,” Mr. Stark handed over the suitcase, Peter took it from him. “Take care of it, it costs more than your entire life.”

Peter grimaced at him, trying hard not to, Mr. Stark didn’t seem to notice. “Yes, sir.”

“You can go out on nights you’re supposed to be having your internship but try to keep to a normal schedule, we don't want your foster parents getting suspicious of you.” 

“Yes, sir,” Peter repeated.

“Happy will be your point guy on these things. I’ve done the liberty of upgrading your phone too, you have his number programmed in there. He’ll reach out to you if I need you to come to the lab and on your weekend at the Compound. Just don’t stress him out, alright?”

“Happy?” Peter questioned, unsure as to whom Mr. Stark was referring to.

“Happy?” Mr. Stark parroted. “You know, the forehead that was ferrying you to and from everywhere?”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Mr. Hogan, sorry. I didn’t know that’s who you meant.”

Mr. Stark snorted. “Speaking of, he’s probably getting more annoyed by the second,” Mr. Stark started towards the door and Peter hurried to follow behind him. They walked towards the dark car that Peter had arrived in, Mr. Stark had been right, Mr. Hogan was standing by the driver's door looking anything but happy.

“About time,” he mumbled, he walked over and opened the passenger side door. “Let’s get a move on.”

“Give us a second,” Mr. Stark turned to him. “Get the kid’s suit in the trunk.”

Mr. Hogan made another rumbling sound, but took the suitcase from Peter’s hand, grunting at the weight of it. Peter hadn’t noticed how heavy it was, it didn’t feel that way to him. When Hr. Hogan was at the trunk Mr. Stark looked at him again. “Do your best to stay out of trouble out there. Stick to helping the little guy, alright? Don’t do anything I would do and definitely don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. There’s a little grey area in there, that’s where you operate. Capiche?”

Peter nodded, a little unsure but unwilling to voice it. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Hogan came from around the trunk and stood by the opened door, impatient as before. “Alright,” Mr. Stark said to him and moved aside so Peter could get into the car. 

Peter got in and right before the door shut, almost as if it was an afterthought he heard Mr. Stark’s voice once more. “Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few years ago I had to take a stupid metabolism test like the one I subjected Peter to doing. I, unlike Peter, do not have super stamina and hated every second of it. :>
> 
> Also, I knooooooow this is bleak so far, but I promise, eventually things will get better. Eventually. Maybe. ;D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again continued thanks to Lynx_the_Defier for the beta. :)
> 
> This is as good of a time as any to mention the book Peter’s reading now, To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis is one of my all-time favorite books. It’s worth a read and serves no purpose in this plot other than spreading my love for this book. :D

Peter was hesitant about going out after school on Monday. 

Dinner on Sunday night was a nightmare for all involved at the house. Not being able to get groceries on Saturday, meant Peter didn’t have the supplies available to make what he usually did. There was enough food in the house to make steak, salad, and broccoli but Mr. Mitchell didn’t like the lack of potatoes. It was a lose, lose situation, no matter what Peter made, there would be something missing.

Instead of going out grocery shopping, the suit was calling Peter’s name loud enough that he ignored common sense and settled on wearing it for a little bit. The grocery store could wait until after he’d gotten a chance to help some people. 

His curfew was extended to 8:00 pm on his pretend internship days, Monday and Wednesday. It was the best compromise they could come up with apparently, Peter really didn’t know. No one asked his opinion on the matter.

Not that he’d complain, having the 5 hours two days a week to be Spider-man, was perfect.

Peter changed in the back of an alley. It wasn’t the safest way but it was what he had available to him. He carefully hid his backpack up on a rooftop, behind an air duct. There was no way he’d risk having it get stolen, especially not when the Mitchell’s wouldn't replace a single item in it. 

Swinging out into the open city was a lot different than swinging back into the training room. With a lot more space and places to catch his web, it took a few tries before he was moving seamlessly around. The wind against his face, the feeling of flying in the air, falling a little only to catch himself, was made up for any muscle ache and pain he felt.

When he first decided to become Spider-man, he limited himself to a small area around his old school in Midtown, and without putting much thought into it he found himself heading in that direction. He was a few blocks south of the school when he saw an older woman carrying several grocery bags down the street.

It wasn’t an end of the world type thing, but it was just what Peter needed to get back into it. He swung down, landing behind her, catching up to her, and offering to take the bags. Not seemingly phased by the masked vigilante offering to carry her things, the lady handed them over and Peter walked with her the half-mile to her home. 

The reward he got was a bottle of water and a thank you, but in reality, it was the reminder that he could still do good even if it was something small. Afterward, he took back to the rooftops, picking his direction at random again.

Stopping on another rooftop 10 minutes later, it took him a second to realize where he ended up.

A few blocks from his old apartment in Queens, the one he shared with Ben and May for most of his childhood.

As soon as the apartment came into view, it felt as if he was frozen to the spot. Just the sight of the building sent a flood of memories and a sharp feeling straight down to his core. The building didn’t look any different, nothing on the outside showed any real change, as if the passage of time had completely stopped.

But that wasn’t the case for the inside.

The small bedroom didn’t hold any of his things anymore. There were no more Iron Man posters, the wooden desk Ben bought him for this 10th birthday no longer against the far wall. There were no more lego pieces everywhere, no more school books and notebooks covering every available surface. Did they paint over the green walls? Maybe they changed the carpet or cleaned away the stain Peter made from the time he spilled paint everywhere.

It might not even be a bedroom anymore, it could be an office, a storage room. The yellow wallpaper in the kitchen might be taken down, the carpet could have been pulled up. All the little things that made it their home, were all long gone. There were no baby pictures of Peter or pictures from Ben and May’s wedding down the hallway. The ugly china they got as a wedding gift was no longer in the cupboard, gathering dust. He wondered if anyone filled in the dent he made in the bathroom’s wall from when Ben tried to fix the plumbing but made it so much worse. He wondered if anyone managed to get the marker off his wall where he wrote his name as a kid or the marks of his heigh Ben had made against his door frame.

He wondered if someone ever found the earring May lost the week she died, the one she swore she had just dropped in the living room.

“Are you okay Peter?” His AI asked him, in a calm and cheerful voice, it was so striking against the feeling of panic and dread he had. “Do you need assistance?”

“No,” he choked out, his brain finally realizing he’d been breathing heavily, his heart rate rocketing. Legs giving out with no warning, he stumbled backward, landing on his butt on the cold concrete of the rooftop.

“Peter?” The AI’s voice sounded so much like May again, if just for a second. He let out a small sob, burying his head into his hands. “Peter, you appear to be in distress. I recommend you take several deep breaths until your heart rate has gone back down.”

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice cracking. The rooftop was cold underneath him, he reached his hand out to the ground, to let the cold feeling draw him back and away from his panic. “I’m okay.”

“Would you like some breathing tips?”

Peter laughed a winded noise that didn’t even sound good in his ears. He took several deep breaths, as best as he could. “Nah, I think I’m okay now. Thank you, suit lady.” 

He lay back on the roof, wondering if Mr. Stark was going to watch what he was doing. The AI might be babysitting him, but that didn’t mean she was reporting his actions live to Mr. Stark. There were clearly better things for Mr. Stark to do besides watching Peter’s first day back on the job.

Just imagining Mr. Stark watching Peter have a panic attack within an hour of getting into the suit, made his heart race again. Mr. Stark might as well take the suit away from him if he couldn’t even look at an apartment building without freaking out.

“Hey suit lady, is Mr. Stark spying on me?”

“Mr. Stark is not currently accessing your suit, Peter.”

“Cool. Can he?”

“Yes, Peter, Mr. Stark has access to my video and audio if he would like to. Mr. Stark has created the Training Wheels Protocol to monitor your actions.”

Suddenly feeling suffocated, he rolled the mask off his mouth and nose, his breath catching in his chest. The pain reminded him of the asthma attacks he had as a kid when he couldn’t keep the air from getting in his lungs. He knew Mr. Stark put something in his suit to monitor him but it didn’t occur to him exactly what that meant until that moment. He could look at anything Peter was doing when he was in the suit. He had unlimited access to everything Peter was doing, whether Peter wanted him to have it or not. How much of himself was Peter willing to give over? Was it worth the cost of being a superhero?

“Peter,” the AI spoke again. “I would recommend trying some breathing exercises. If your heart rate continues to rise, I will have to alert Mr. Stark that you are in potential danger.”

“Don’t,” he wheezed out. “Please.” His hands automatically went to his chest, pressing down, if willing for his lungs to exhale normally. If he kept going like this, he was going to pass out and Mr. Stark would take the suit away for sure. Willing his lungs to work, he concentrated on taking a very deep breath, it took a few times before he was able to breathe normally but eventually, it came to him. May used to rub his back when he’d have an asthma attack if he closed his eyes he could almost feel the phantom touch.

“Can you tell me if Mr. Stark starts watching me?” He asked the AI when he was able to speak again without choking on air. 

“Sure, Peter. I will alert you if Mr. Stark accesses the suit. Is there anything else I can do to assist you?”

Something was comforting about the AI’s voice, his anxiety was calming down a little. The AI’s voice was strong and unwavering, it was something Peter could latch onto, something real and in the present. “Not right now, but I feel bad for calling you, suit lady. Is it okay if I give you a name?”

“That would be nice, Peter, however, I do not mind being called suit lady.”

Peter smiled. “How about…,” he thought for a second, “May?” He paused. “No wait, that’s… weird, uh, how about Karen?”

“Sure, Peter, you can call me Karen.”

“Okay, Karen it is. Thank you for uh, calming me down and sorry for freaking out on you a few times already.”

“It’s not a problem, Peter. I’m here to help you. Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

Peter hummed. “Not really but uh, I guess, you can give me an alert at 7:00? I need to stop at the store before going back to the house.”

“Of course, Peter.”

He took one last deep breath before swinging off the building’s roof, pointedly heading in the opposite direction of his old apartment. 

~*~

The more Peter went out in the suit, the better things became for him, the easier it was to get into the swing of things. Karen was a welcome friend, he found himself telling her about his day, expressing the feelings he’d usually kept bottled up. The two days a week he spent swinging through Queens and helping people, were soon the best moments of his week. When he wasn’t out there, he was thinking about it, craving the freedom and the feel of helping people, no matter how small.

The only contact he’d received from Mr. Stark was a text from Mr. Hogan with a date and time for his next overnight visit at the Compound. He was curious about what the trip was initially, if he’d spend time with the Avengers, or if he’d spend another weekend as a science experiment. It would be nice to be kept in the loop, or at least, prepared just a little for what was going to happen.

Mr. Mitchell barreled into the room, without knocking, just as Peter finished packing his overnight bag. Peter jumped off his bed, standing straight up, arms by his side. Mr. Mitchell glared at him, eyes boring into Peter’s as if he was looking for a reason to start yelling. He didn’t need one, but he’d always make an effort.

Mr. Mitchell’s mood had been a lot worse than usual, the last week or so. Peter overheard the couple fighting the night before about money issues. Not wanting to hear the whole fight, Peter had tuned them out. He heard enough to know the couple was running low on money. Since Peter was their only foster child at the moment, they weren't getting as much to take care of him. Not that they spent any of the money on Peter.

“You leave for your internship this weekend.” It wasn’t posed as a question, Mr. Mitchell was fully aware of where Peter was heading. There was a calendar on the fridge where Peter circled the dates and wrote down where he’d be. He wasn’t prepared to give them any excuse to keep him from going.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, regardless. 

“Did you clean your room?” He looked around the relatively clean bedroom. Peter’s heart dropped a little, he knew exactly what was happening next. There was an expectation for his room to always be clean, with not a single item out of place. The bed must always be made, clothes always put away in the dresser or closet. School books weren’t allowed to be left sitting out, the room had to look as if no one lived in it.

Peter tried his best to keep up with the request. He was a teenager, he couldn’t help the mess he sometimes made. Ben and May were never too hard on him about keeping his room clean, as long as there was a path to and from things and he didn't leave food anywhere, they were pretty lenient. 

It didn’t matter how well Peter kept the room, Mr. Mitchell would always find something he missed.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Mitchell moved towards the bed, dropping down on the ground and looking underneath. He had some obsession with checking for anything that’d fallen underneath the bed. It wasn't as if Peter made an effort to let things get lost under there, sometimes things just happened. If nothing was found under the bed, the closet would be checked next to make sure clothes were hung neat and orderly.

The only thing Peter had to truly worry about was Mr. Mitchell finding his Spider-man suit. The suitcase didn’t fit in the small crawl space Peter stashed all of his important things in. The suit ended up thrown in a plastic bag and shoved beside his food stash. Mr. Mitchell finding the food was bad enough, the thought of him finding the suit made him feel nauseous. 

Eyes darting nervously over at the closet, he could see that the door was slightly ajar still. Getting his suit from the hiding space was the last thing he had to pack, it wasn’t sitting out but the slightly open closet felt like a giant neon sign just asking for Mr. Mitchell to take a look inside.

Peter’s fears were abated for the moment when Mr. Mitchell had struck gold underneath the bed and tossed out a pen, two sheets of crumpled up paper, and a single sock. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“I thought you said you cleaned,” Mr. Mitchell said, getting to his feet. He pointed down to the small items sitting on the floor. “Does this look clean to you?”

Looking away from the closet, Peter looked down at the items and then back up. “No, sir.” 

“What are you waiting for?” Mr. Mitchell asked and Peter moved forward, getting on his knees to pick everything up. He could feel Mr. Mtichell moving towards him, his spider-sense screamed at him to move, but he didn’t. A kick to the midsection was delivered swiftly and almost sent him falling to his side.

Wincing Peter stood up, items gathered in his hands, and deposited them onto the bed. Without wanting to, he looked back to the closet door, regretting it the second he did.

“What?” Mr. Mitchell questioned, turning his head to see where Peter was looking.

“N-nothing, sir,” he stuttered in response, looking back to the bed. He picked up the paper, ready to throw them away but Mr. Mitchell grabbed his wrist.

“Why do you keep looking at the closet?”

Heart racing, Peter shook his head. “N-nothing, sir. I thought I heard something fall but I don’t think so. Sorry sir, please let me clean up this mess for you.”

A lifetime passed, Mr. Mitchell’s hand wrapped around Peter’s wrist, his eyes training over Peter’s face as if they were trying to read his mind. Fighting not to look at the closet again, he looked ahead, past Mr. Mitchell’s face and on the door behind him. 

Letting go of his hand, Mr. Mitchell took a step back, allowing Peter to turn and throw away the paper. He had to hold back the sigh of relief that washed over him.

Turning back to grab the pen and sock, he blocked the incoming slap to the face from Mr. Mitchell on instinct alone. It was misguided, he should have taken it, but in his relief, he wasn’t thinking right and allowed himself to take action.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Mitchell barked at him, staring incredulously at Peter’s hand, now holding back his wrist. 

As if he was touching fire, Peter let go, taking an unconscious step backward but Mr. Mitchell didn’t let him get away and filled back up space between them.

“The internship, sir. I leave in an hour,” Peter quickly supplied, trying desperately to come up with a convincing reason. Banking on the fact that Mr. Mitchell was a smart man, he wouldn’t want to leave a mark this close to when Peter was leaving. He also knew Peter healed “quick” compared to others, but if he got hit now, the redness would still be there when he left.

Mr. Mitchell laughed loudly. “You think I don’t know that? You think that your precious Stark would care if you came all beaten up? He doesn’t care about you Parker. No one cares about you.”

Peter closed his eyes tightly at the tirade, nodding his head, to show his submission and agreement. 

Mr. Mitchell continued, keeping a sickening grin on his face. “I see how happy you were coming home from your internship, but you know it’s just bullshit. The same reason why I allow you in my home. Your purpose is to serve us and do what we want, Stark is just using you for the free service and publicity it comes with. Why would he ever want you? You can’t even keep your goddamn room clean.”

Peter hated how much Mr. Mitchell’s words hurt him to the core. He was right, without realizing it. Mr. Stark didn’t really care about Peter Parker and more so, if Peter showed up bruised, they’d write it off as a Spider-man thing. He was sure no one would even check to see if he got into any fights. 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re sorry?” Mr. Mitchell spat at him. “Tell me, why are you sorry Parker?”

Peter let out a long breath and recited the well known script. “I’m sorry for being a waste of space. I’m sorry for not doing what I’ve been told to do. I’m sorry for assuming I was smarter than you, sir. I’m sorry for assuming someone,” he paused for a moment, trying to push out the words without believing them, it never worked, “that Mr. Stark would care about me.”

The hand that smacked his face didn’t even hurt, not really. He barely moved his head to the side on impact. The second and third smack, however, stung a little. It was enough for his eyes to water and his face to flush with warmth. The fourth and fifth smack, over the same patch of his cheek, wasn’t as strong but they stung the worst.

Finished with this assault, Mr. Mitchell grabbed Peter’s chin, turning his face to admire his work. There was no use in fighting it, Peter just let the man do whatever he wanted. “Remember that I can do this to you whenever I want and no one will ever believe you.”

Dropping his chin, Mr. Mitchell offered him one last look over before leaving the room. Transfixed to the spot, it took several long minutes of deep breathing before Peter snapped back to life. 

Carefully he closed the bedroom door, waiting until he couldn’t hear any footsteps, he moved to the closet, to get his suit out of its hiding spot.

~*~

No one commented on Peter’s face, not that Peter saw many people. 

Mr. Hogan didn’t even blink at him when he arrived to pick up Peter. The partition was already rolled up when he got into the car leaving Peter to read To Say Nothing Of The Dog, which he had picked up the day before. The book was a stark contrast to Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, this one was a funny, light-hearted mystery. May had circled it several times in the notebook, with two exclamation points besides its name. Knowing how to decode her writing, he figured she loved this one a lot and Peter was finding himself loving it too. 

He didn't see a single soul when he got to the Compound, it was almost painfully empty. The halls were creepy, the building so new and shiny but completely void of voices and people. Even the public sector, which last time had a few people here and there, was empty. Peter was directed to go to his room to do, as Mr. Hogan put it “whatever”. 

And that’s exactly what he did.

It was only this second time at the Compound, he didn’t know where to go or what to do. There was no note, no text, no message at all from anyone, not even Mr. Stark. It was like they expected him to just figure things out on his own. It was almost amusing to him, Peter craved independence, wanted nothing more than to be out of Mr. Mitchell’s thumb, didn’t want Mr. Stark to watch his every move, and yet when faced with freedom, he was a deer in headlights. 

He spent an hour reading before his stomach started growling loud and persistently. He was used to being hungry, but knowing there was available food to him, made him venture out of his room. He found the kitchen empty and ended up making himself two turkey burgers he found in the fridge, as well as an entire bag of frozen carrots. There was a part of him that wanted to grab some of the snack foods he saw, hide them up in his room in case he wasn’t allowed back into the kitchen. Maybe even take a few of them back to the Mitchell’s… but it felt almost like stealing. Instead, he settled on grabbing a few bottles of water and a few bags of chips to bring back up to his room. This way he didn’t have to wander out of his room for the rest of the night. 

Cooking in the quiet kitchen was nice, there was o one screaming at him to hurry and he could make what he wanted, the way he wanted it to. When he was done cooking, he ended up eating at the empty kitchen table as he read his book. He was never allowed to read at the dinner table, Ben and May wouldn't let him either, so it gave Peter a ridiculous thrill to sit and read.

He wasn’t so engrossed, however, that he didn’t hear someone come off the elevator and walk down the hallway. He braced himself, putting the book down and focusing on eating. He hoped it was Mr. Stark, or at least someone he exchanged more than a sentence with. 

Mr. Stark walked in, when he caught sight of Peter he looked way too surprised. “Oh, kid. Hey.”

“Um, hi Mr. Stark.”

“Hey,” he walked to the counter and leaned against it. “When did you get here? It’s Saturday already?”

Mr. Stark sounded like he was going for just a casual but Peter could see right through it. He had no idea Peter was even supposed to be there, let alone in the kitchen eating dinner. 

“A few hours ago, Mr. Stark,” he answered simply, going back to eating his burger very slowly. He wasn’t trying to be rude, he was annoyed but he also just wanted to eat and disappear for real now. 

“Ah, sorry about that kid. It’s been a really busy week, everyone’s out on a mission and I’ve been holed up in the lab for, well, a whole day I guess.”

“Sorry,” Peter responded automatically. “I can go home if you-”

Mr. Stark cut him off, raising his hands. “No, no, of course not. Not your fault at all, it’s mine. I’m not very good at remembering stuff. FRI usually does a good job of it, but I guess she forgot too.”

“FRI?” Peter questioned.

“I haven’t introduced you to my girl FRIDAY yet? Geez, I haven’t been a very decent host. FRIDAY say hello to Peter.”

A female voice greeted him, sounding as if it was coming from several speakers in the room. “Hello, Peter Parker.”

The voice was oddly familiar, he was sure he’d heard it coming from Mr. Stark’s phone at one point too. 

“That’s FRIDAY, she’s my AI. Now that she knows you, you can ask her for just about anything. She knows your clearance level, will make sure you don’t end up where you shouldn’t and whatnot.”

“Is she in my room?” He asked, a little fearfully. If FRIDAY was spying on him, she might have seen some of the buries from last month. He had a hard time hiding things from an all-knowing AI than just a person.

“She is, but she doesn’t constantly monitor or anything. Privacy’s safe and all that jazz,” he said, “she’ll only respond to you if you talk to her or if you’re in an emergency.”

Peter nodded. “Okay,” and then he smiled. “That’s really cool, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark looked pretty smug for a second and then he jerked his head towards the book Peter had sitting in front of him.

“What’s this about?” He pushed himself away from the counter and closed the gap between them. Without waiting for permission, he grabbed the book from the table and started to page through it. Disregarding the fact that Peter had opened it to the page he was reading, but it was fine, Peter knew approximately what page left off on. 

“Books usually have these things called summaries. They are often on the back cover,” he quipped.

The look Mr. Stark gave him, almost made him smile. He hadn’t meant to come back with something so sarcastic, but there was something about Mr. Stark that brought back a little of the old Peter. And maybe Mr. Stark deserved it, forgetting about Peter completely. 

“Sounds like someone didn’t even read the book,” Mr. Stark countered back, he flipped through more pages. He didn’t sound annoyed he was grinning as he looked at the book.

“It’s about the Bishop’s bird stump and time travel,” Peter answered truthfully. 

“What about the dog?”

“As the title says, say nothing of the dog.”

Mr. Stark laughed out loud and Peter let himself relax a fraction. Putting the book back down on the table, he went to clasp his hand on Peter’s shoulder, but the action made Peter go suddenly rigid. He thought it wasn’t too noticeable, but Mr. Stark stopped his movements and an awkward silence filled the air.

“Sorry,” Peter said in response. “I’m uh, I have a sense about things and sometimes I just... um, flinch a little.,” he only lied a little. Peter was just naturally on edge to people moving a hand towards him. While he knew Mr. Stark wasn’t Mr. Mitchell, it was still hard for him not to react like that. 

The smile seemed to drop off Mr. Stark’s face quickly. “Ah, no problem kid.”

He took a few steps back, to his original position, back up against the counter. “Truth be told kid, it’s a busy weekend for me. After you’re finished, why don't you just head up to bed? I’m leaving early tomorrow but I’d like you to head down into the training room anyway. I’ll leave instructions with FRIDAY, she’ll link up with your AI and they’ll guide you through some training exercise. Happy will be ready to take you home before dinner.”

And just like that, it felt like the comradery that was starting, was gone.

“Yeah, okay,” Peter answered, not even hiding the disappointment in his voice. He knew he shouldn’t be complaining, this was still a once in a lifetime opportunity, but he wished it came with more. He wished Mr. Mitchell had been wrong about everything and that Mr. Stark wanted Peter there, that the Avengers wanted Peter there.

Mr. Stark left a second later, without getting anything. Peter wondered why he even came into the kitchen in the first place. Was he that flustered to see Peter sitting there eating? He took his time to finish eating and the chapter he was on. He washed his dishes in the sink too, making sure to put them back in the cabinets he got them from. He wanted to be as inconveniencing as possible for those living in the Compound. 

~*~

Peter had become an expert on fracturing himself into a smaller, more manageable version of himself for other people to see. 

The Mitchell's got the version of Peter who was small and quiet. Even when he was “disobeying” them he was still trying his best to stay completely out of their way. He only did what he was supposed to and then disappeared back into his room. He took his punishments without complaint, without tears, without showing a single bit of weakness. He never talked back, never made jokes, and never, ever talked about his day with them. All aspects of his personality were stripped away when it came to them.

Mr. Stark got the obedient ghost, Peter. He left Mr. Stark alone and didn't bother Mr. Horgan either. He went on his weekly patrols as he was told and didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. He responded to their questions and comments when he did get them, but made no effort to be in their way. When he went to the Compound, he waited quietly until he was told to do something. Peter was their guest, he didn’t need to be anything more than that. Sometimes it was hard when Mr. Stark made a joke or funny comment, Peter had to bite down on his lip sometimes not to answer. He gave them just enough of Peter Parker to get through it, just enough to keep them from knowing anything was wrong. 

The people of Queens got the parts of Peter that were Spider-man. He felt safe and secure, strong and wanted. People waved at him, smiled when they saw him. He found himself joking around, feeling weightless for the first time in years. This was the only version of Peter that deserved attention, that anyone even wanted around anymore and he lived for it.

There was nobody who saw the full Peter anymore. He saved that for his bedroom at night, where he could turn off the lights, shut the door, and keep everyone out so he could finally be free. The Peter who saw the bruises in the mirror and traced them with his fingers saw how skinny and gaunt he was, the paleness of his skin, the bags under his eyes, and allowed himself the sadness he locked away from the others.

If anyone saw all the pieces, they might be able to put together the puzzle and Peter would be exposed.

It was just easier this way.

~*~

Peter had gotten fairly good at patrolling and staying out of more dangerous situations. He did his fair share of stopping robberies and muggings, but he was quick and hadn’t gotten himself injured in any major way. 

He figured at some point, he’d break that lucky streak, it was only part of the Parker Luck.

He’d been heading back to the Mitchell’s house on a Friday night when a shout caught his attention. He’d been getting much better at handling the onslaught of sounds, being able to identify what were sounds of trouble and distress. The suit dampened a lot of sounds and if Peter asked, he found that Karen could make it soundproof for him. There were a few nights, especially after a round with Mr. Mitchell, that Peter risked wearing the mask in bed if only to rid himself of the outside world for a few hours of sleep.

Peter rerouted himself, heading towards the now familiar sounds of a mugging. He arrived shortly, stopping himself on a roof that overlooked an alleyway. A man stood, in a dark hoodie and a hat hung over his face, holding out a long-bladed knife towards a young-looking man and woman. 

Peter moved swiftly but quietly, down the side of the building, hidden in the shadows.

“Just give me what you got,” the man with the knife barked in a hushed tone at them. Peter could see his hand was shaking a little, this must be his first attempt at a mugging. He didn’t sound very intimidating which made Peter worry. People like that were more prone to panicking and hurting someone, he knew first hand.

A flare of something shot up his spine, a hit of anxiety that he had to push away. He needed to help these people and not have a flashback or panic attack. 

“Sorry,” the woman was saying in a scared small voice, “I’m, I don’t have..,” she was trying to get something out of her purse but couldn’t seem to find it.

“Just give me the whole thing,” the mugger said, waving the knife a little and sounding a lot more annoyed and frantic with each passing second.

“Honey,” the guy said, “just give it to him, it’s okay.”

The scene was way too familiar for Peter’s comfort level, he could feel the increase in breathing and his rate of heart, he knew he was edging closer to panic. He couldn’t get himself to move, his whole body seemed to seize up and then the woman screamed and Peter saw the mugger pulling her purse away from her.

And then everything seemed to go in slow motion, the man surged forward to help the woman, to push away the mugger but he saw him coming and Peter watched in horror as the mugger slashed the knife across the man’s arm. 

And at that moment, it wasn’t two strangers. It was Ben and May. It wasn’t a knife, it was a gun. It wasn’t a purse, it was Peter. The same story playing out in front of him and he was doing the same thing now that he’d done then.

He was frozen in this spot, unable to move. 

He blinked once, twice, and then moved without thinking. He jumped shooting out a web, connecting to the mugger’s shoulders, and using his momentum to slam the mugger to the ground. The couple was dazed, the woman letting out another scream as Peter landed in between them and the downed mugger. 

He looked at the couple, the man was on the ground, but all Peter could see was blood everywhere. The woman was trying to control the bleeding from his arm, she was shouting something but all sound was gone from his mind. He could only hear his own heart beating painfully in his chest. All of it was too much.

His senses screamed at him, that something was coming but he didn’t register it fully until a sharp pain radiated from his shoulder. He moved on instinct completely, as the knife pushed into his skin. He saw the mugger, looking somewhat confused and a little fearful, and took a few steps backward.

Despite the pain, he lifted his arms and shot out two webs, connecting with the mugger’s arms and sending him against the wall. He kept shooting webs, one after another until the mugger was well and stuck. 

He looked at the couple, who now looked even more fearful. “Are you okay?” He tried to ask from a mouth that felt full of cotton. Someone gave him an answer but he couldn’t tell exactly who. Karen was talking to him now, her robotic AI voice a monotone presents in his ear despite the hectic loud station outside of him.

He didn’t wait for another second, he shot out a web towards the roof he’d come from, he could feel the metal knife moving in his shoulder and he screamed without abandonment as it jostled a little. He made it to a rooftop, ripping off his mask to breathe in the cold night’s air. His panic was subsiding enough to bring the world back to him, but now he was feeling a little woozy. He wasn’t bleeding, not very much, but enough that he could feel it squishing in the suit.

“Shit,” he swore as he stumbled forward. He put the mask back over his face. He tried to right himself and as he walked towards the edge of the roof, he sent out another web with his good arm, but it didn't matter. The movement of swinging worsened the pain, ripping a scream out of him.

“Peter, I would advise you to stop swinging right now. You are only going to agitate your shoulder worse.”

Peter landed in a tumble on the next roof, knees giving out and sending him to the ground. Eyes closed, he fought against nausea and dizziness, trying to find a way to calm everything down. Karen was still talking to him and maybe, another voice too but it didn’t matter.

The inky black darkness swarmed his vision and swallowed him down into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, listen, I know Tony's being a bit of a jerk, okay? I promise I proomiiseee it'll be resolved soonish! It's not my intention to do any character assassination of Tony, I adore him and would never but he's also not the best sometimes (re: Homecoming!). I like doing a realism and sometimes that means making people be jerks, y'know?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you Lynx_the_Defier for the beta :)
> 
> Ah, is that the comfort part of hurt arriving today? *jazz hands*

Awareness came back to him slowly and with it a chill that caused him to shiver. He reached his arm around, looking for his blanket but the one he felt under his hands was nothing like the one on his bed. 

He wasn’t in his bed, he wasn't at the Mitchell’s.

His eyes remained closed, fear creeping up inside of him. If he wasn't there, where was he? More importantly, what was happening to him? The sounds around him, what he originally thought was the normal morning one, suddenly seemed very out of place. A soft beeping noise, too many footsteps, too many extra voices, nothing normal about any of it. There was a smell of something he couldn’t place, something clean and sharp.

A sudden jolt of pain cascading pain starting in his shoulder and moving down to his fingertips jogged his memory. He’d been stabbed and he passed out when trying to get back to the Mitchell’s. Someone must have found him and took him to a hospital, where he laid now, very clearly without his mask on.

All the air left his lungs and he jackknifed up in the bed, eyes opening. His flight or fight response, triggered, demanding that he take off now before things get even worse than they already are. 

A hand to the chest startled him, his sense not even sending out a warning for him to avoid it. His brain was still trying to claw its way back from the medication they must have given him, he could barely focus on who was in front of him. 

“Hey woah, stay down. Same side.”

Blinking a few times, the room slowly came into focus, as did the owner of the hand. “Take it easy.” Mr. Stark barely applied pressure against Peter’s chest but he still found himself leaning back into the bed.

“Wha?” Peter questioned, his mouth was dry and noncompliant with talking. Mr. Stark’s hand disappeared from his chest, only to reappear a minute later with a cup hovering close to Peter’s lips.

“Let me help, it’s water.”

Allowing Mr. Stark to bring the cup to his lips, he drank in the cool liquid. A few seconds later, Mr. Stark took the cup away, Peter trying to lean forward to get back to it. “Just a little, for now, you can have some again in a few minutes. Don’t want to overdo it.”

“Thanks.”

“How much do you remember about last night?” Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Stark crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Um,” Peter thought for a moment before the memories came flooding back. Stopping the mugging and getting stabbed in the shoulder, trying to make his way back home, the picture wasn’t complete but he knew what happened. He turned his head to look at his shoulder, wrapped in several white bandages underneath the t-shirt he was wearing. “I got stabbed and uh, that’s about it.”

“Well, let me fill in some blanks. After you got stabbed you I’m assuming attempted to head home, but luckily, Karen, an interesting name choice, notified me you’d been injured. I found you on a rooftop bleeding heavily and brought you back here. I wrapped you up, gave you something for the pain and that was about 45 minutes ago.”

Peter sulked. “Sorry, sir,” automatically slipping from his mouth. There was nothing particularly harsh sounding in Mr. Stark’s tone, but he didn’t sound all that happy with him.

“You don’t have to be sorry, kid. You should have called me if you needed help.”

“I didn’t know it was that bad. I’ve never been stabbed before and I thought I could make it home without help.”

“And then what? What if your dad saw it? What would he think?”

The mention of Mr. Mitchell caused Peter to try to sit up again, despite the pain. “Shit, Mr. Mitchell! I’m late, he's probably worried -”

Mr. Stark’s hand came back out to Peter’s chest, this time applying enough pressure to gently push Peter back against the bed. “I already called him and told him you were working on something and had to stay overnight at the Tower.”

His heart dropped into his stomach, a wave of nausea rolled over him. That was not good, there was no way Mr. Mitchell was going to be happy with Peter not coming home tonight. “Oh,” Peter swallowed down the panic that was building, his voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “It’s okay, I can go home now. I heal fast and my shoulder already feels better.”

Mr. Stark chuckled, removing his hand from Peter’s chest. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen, kid. You’re gonna stay here tonight and tomorrow Dr. Styles is gonna come by and check on you and then, only if she’s okay with it, you can go home.”

“I can’t.” His voice cracked, his words coming out just as weak and broken as he felt. The pain was starting to become a little too much again, all the moving Peter was done was taking its toll. “Mr. Mitchell needs me home on the weekends, he’s gonna be so mad.” He couldn’t help the words coming out of his mouth, whatever filter he normally had in place seemed to be slipping.

“Mitchell can deal without you for an extra day or so. Kid, you’re hurt, you’re going to stick around. And so what if he’s mad, he can deal with it.”

Wanting to argue the point, Peter tried to speak again but instead, a yawn escaped. He knew he should be fighting staying at the Tower, it wasn’t worth the anger he’d receive from Mr. Mitchell. And yet, all of the fight was draining out of him. Even if he tried to get up, he doubted he would make it very far.

Sleeping was pulling him down again, his mind slowly slipping away from the problem. “Okay,” he mumbled, eyes starting to close already. 

“Glad you see it my way, kid. Now get some sleep.”

Peter was back to sleep before Mr. Stark even left the room.

~*~

Dr. Styles was impressed with both Mr. Stark’s bandage skills and Peter’s healing abilities when she inspected his shoulder in the morning. 

“Hmm,” she hummed, inspecting the knife wound carefully. “You said this happened last night?”

Nodding his head, Peter opened his mouth to answer but Mr. Stark started talking already. “Yeah, it was pretty deep, I thought it would need stitches but within 10 minutes of being here, it already looked closed.”

“Remarkable,” she awed. “Does it still hurt Peter?”

“Not as much as it did before.” It wasn’t a lie, the pain was slowly starting to lessen, as long as he didn’t move his arm, it was pretty manageable. 

“I’m sorry we don’t have any pain medication for you. I know Stark gave you a little something, but I doubt it made a dent in the pain you were in.” She started to wrap a new bandage around his shoulder and arm. “We should have one soon, I promise we’ve been working on it. I’m glad you didn’t need stitches last night.”

Answering for him again, Mr. Stark nodded. “Yeah me too. So he’s good to go home today?”

“Sure, I’d just lay off the web-slinging for a few days. You’re back at the Compound next weekend, I can check it again then. If you have any pain or if it starts bleeding again, please call Tony. I know it’s not going to help all that much, but I’ll give you some pain medication to take home, as well as some extra bandages. Although based on what I’m seeing here, you shouldn’t even need them at all within a few days.”

Finally getting the chance to speak for himself, Peter smiled at her. “Thanks, Dr. Styles.” 

“Of course. Have you been eating those meal bars?” She had a very casual tone to her voice, but Peter knew she suspected something was up. He knew he hadn’t put on much weight if any.

Not having any plausible excuse on the ready, he merely shrugged and lied. “Yeah, I have. Thank you, again.”

“Hmm-hmm. It doesn’t look like you’ve put on very much weight. We were hoping you’d be up at least 20 lbs by now.”

“The swinging,” he said quickly, he could feel Mr. Stark’s gaze on him and he wished Dr. Styles would have made him leave as she did for his physical. “Around New York, it burns a lot of calories. I think it’s outweighing the bars.”

She had finished bandaging his shoulder back up and was studying Peter’s face, with a careful expression. He couldn’t tell if she was buying it or not until she tilted her head slightly and gave a small nod. “I can see that. Why don’t you start doubling them up on the days you go out? We can give that a try and if it still doesn’t work, we might want to run a few more tests.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter agreed, hoping it would put an end to the conversation and lucky for him, it had. 

When Dr. Styles left, Peter sat awkwardly on the bed while Mr. Stark still sat in his chair. “So uh,” Peter started. “I guess I can call an Uber.”

Mr. Stark blinked at him several times. “Or you can stick around for a bit and Happy can take you home?”

“Oh uh, well I’ve got chores,” he nervously wrung the blanket covering his lap in his hands, “and Mr. Mitchell doesn’t like when I’m not doing them. On the weekends.”

“Mitchell doesn’t seem to like a lot of things.”

The words struck Peter like a punch to the gut and he immediately started to scramble for a cover-up. “I mean, I live there for free y’know? I have chores. I’m the only kid they have left in the home and they work so much anyway and I mean, it’s just regular chores and since I’ve started the internship I haven’t been home after school every day and -”

“Woah,” Mr. Stark said with a slight amusement to his voice, “slow down, kid. No need to panic, the man just seems kinda bossy that’s all. And when I talked to him last night I said I’d have you home before dinner and it’s not even lunch yet.”

“Oh.” Peter didn’t know how to reply. It didn’t matter what Mr. Stark said to him, Mr. Mitchell was going to be angry and upset. The longer he stayed with Mr. Stark the worse that was going to be.

And yet, the prospect of hanging sounded too good. It was what he’d been hoping for, wasn’t it? Maybe he would be allowed this, to have this one good moment today. 

“Get changed and meet me in the kitchen, we’ll eat breakfast and then spend some time in the lab. You can start some more web fluid, you have to be running out by now, yeah? It’ll be a bit hard with one working arm, but we’ll manage.”

Reaching out to pat his blanked knee, he didn’t wait for Peter to respond before leaving him alone in the room.

~*~

Working one armed wasn’t easy, but Mr. Stark had DUM-E, his robot, assisting Peter with some of the web fluid. It was oddly relaxing, not too difficult and DUM-E had an adorable habit of messing up easy tasks enough to make Peter laugh. By the time lunch came around, Peter was feeling relaxed and a lot less stressed.

“Why don’t we take a break?” Mr. Stark asked from his table, where he was repairing the hole in Peter’s suit. “I’ll order us some lunch, you can chill out on the couch for a bit. Don’t want you overdoing it on the shoulder.”

The pain in his shoulder wasn’t horrible, but it was starting to ache just enough to become bothersome. He’d gotten so used to dealing with the pain from Mr. Mitchell, his body seemed to just work well while ignoring the pain. 

Not wanting to disagree, Peter headed over to the couch, curling his legs underneath himself. The clothing left for him to change into was a pair of sweat pants two sizes too big and a dark maroon hoodie with a 50’s style Stark Industries logo across the front. It was also two sizes too big, but comfortable and he was able to pull the sleeves over his hands, making sweater paws. He was going to be a little sad if Mr. Stark expected him to return it the next time he saw him. 

Order from a local Mexican place, Peter attempted to order only a small meal but Mr. Stark kept on adding different foods, enough to feed an entire time instead of two people. 

“Billionaire!” He all but shouted at Peter when he tried to object. Instead of making Peter feel any better, it just made him feel extra embarrassed. 

Sheepishly, Peter curled into a ball on the couch, watching as Mr. Stark continued fixing the small tear in his suit. Almost a half hour later, when FRIDAY alerted them to the food’s arrival, Peter jumped up and headed towards the door.

“Nope,” Mr. Stark said to him and Peter turned to see the man walking towards him. “You’ve got one good arm, I’ve got two. Take a seat.”

Spreading the food out across one of the unused tables, it looked like a buffet fit for a king. Peter took the burrito he ordered and a small handful of chips to start with. The food was delicious, much better than what he’d been eating lately, he tried in vain to hide his happiness at simply eating food. 

“So,” Mr. Stark started as he ate one of his tacos, “I thought your tingle prevented you from getting knifed?”

The question took Peter by surprise and he swallowed down a bigger mouthful than he intended to. Coughing a few times, Mr. Stark looked like he was ready to slap him on the back, but thought better of it. Peter recovered quickly. “Sorry,” he choked out as soon as he could.

“My fault,” Mr. Stark handed Peter his water, which he took graciously, drinking until his throat didn’t feel so bad. When he finished, Mr. Stark looked on expectantly.

“Uh,” Peter started, thinking of what to say. He panicked, he knew that but how much should Mr. Stark really know. Was it worth telling him what happened? He’d been used to ignoring his sense when it came to Mr. Mitchell, which compounded with the panic, made it easy for Peter to ignore it.

He decided on half truths. “The uh, mugging,” he avoided looking directly at Mr. Stark, instead speaking to the plate of nachos between them, “reminded me of what happened to May and Ben… my Aunt and Uncle. I kind of froze a little and the guy got the jump on me. Sometimes, if I’m a little stressed or tired, it’s easy to ignore the sense.”

“Oh,” Mr. Stark answered, and then the room was silent again. Peter went back to eating, avoiding eye contact with Mr. Stark completely. He couldn’t tell what the man before him was thinking. He knew Mr. Stark had stalked him, knew his life contained a long paper trail, from his parent's death to May and Ben’s. 

Knowing the picture painted a sad story, of a child orphaned twice, 0/2 in terms of parental figures. A kid who was really a curse, a bad omen, sending anyone who cared about him to an early grave. He wondered what Mr. Stark had first thought when he’d seen it if he’d felt sorry for Peter, and saw him as just another charity case. 

“What happened?” Mr. Stark asked Peter knew he wasn’t talking about last night. There was always an internal struggle when it came to talking about what happened to Ben and May. A part of him needed to talk about it needed to share some of the grief but at the same time, it hurt too much to let it out. Barely anyone knew part of the story, no one even knowing the entire thing. There was no one left to tell after they had died, he was well and truly alone in the world. Random social workers, fellow orphans at the group home… no one was family, no one even knew Peter and he was never going to be able to open up to any of them.

The weight of it sat in his stomach, weighing him down, pulling him further into himself, into anxiety and sadness. Maybe it was worth trying to let a little of that go every once in a while.

“We didn’t have a lot of money, uh, growing up. But uh, anytime I did well in school or got a really good grade, they’d do something for me, as a treat. There was this science fair and I’d done a big project characterizing the bonding properties of a nano-wire biomimetic gecko adhesive.”

“A what?” Mr. Stark jumped in, his voice breaking Peter out of his thoughts.

“Oh,” he said with a slight grin, he always enjoyed explaining his project to people, the thrill hadn’t gone away even a few years later. “The feet of a gecko is coated with millions of tiny hairs, several nanometers in diameter. When they press their feet against a surface, they are activating an intermolecular bonding force, which lets them stick to things. I was looking to see if I could optimize silicon nano-wire adhesive for use in medical applications. It actually ended up helping me develop my web fluid too.”

“So you’re telling me you could have been Gecko-Man instead?”

For the first time in a long time, Peter laughed, long and loud. It triggered a similar laugh out of Mr. Stark, so much so it only pushed Peter into small giggles. When he was able to subside them, he shook his head. “No, no. I got bitten by a spider, so I had to stay on brand.”

When the laugher settled, silence rolled back in and Peter took a few measured breaths before going back into the story. “But yeah, I uh, won with that project, so Ben and May let me choose what I wanted to do. 

Deciding to look at the half eaten plate of food was a lot easier than looking anywhere near Mr. Stark, he put his head down as he continued. “I picked this local ice cream parlor, it was one of my favorite places and we never really got a chance to go there. It was pretty late in the evening when we were walking home. This guy with a gun came out of nowhere and uh, well, I had my powers back then too y’know. So I kinda sensed him coming but I didn’t… I didn’t do anything. So he stopped us and asked for our money.

“May handed over her purse and Ben his wallet, but um, I just stood there, like an idiot and the guy, he pointed the gun at me and asked for my wallet.”

Reaching for his water, he needed to give himself a break from the feelings that were coming back to the surface. The feeling of helplessness, of terror, of not knowing what this man was a gun was going to do to them. He’d never been so scared in his entire life, in those moments, with so much uncertainty around them. 

“But I was a kid like I had nothing and Ben stepped up and said something. To be honest, I can’t remember. I just remember the guy started yelling at Ben and then May stepped up too, to protect me. That’s all they were doing, y’know? I was too scared to move and they were protecting their stupid nephew.”

“Because you were just a kid,” Mr. Stark said softly and Peter ventured a look at the man. “They were protecting you because they loved you.”

“They didn’t have to,” Peter came back suddenly, a rush of anger spreading through him. Despite all the sadness, the memory brought, anger came with it too. Anger for his own mistakes and stupidity. “I had my abilities, remember? It was still new, it’d only been a few months but I could have easily overpowered the guy but I didn’t Mr. Stark. Instead, I stood there and watched as the guy panicked and shot Ben, and then, when it looked like he was going to shoot me, May stepped up. I let her step in front of the bullet and they both died instead of me.”

The air was heavy in the room, Peter didn’t realize it but his breathing picked up, his heart racing, a panic attack that started the night before came slamming back into him at lightning speed. He opened his mouth again, words tumbling out, unable to stop. “And you think I killed the guy, Mr. Stark? I didn’t kill him. I stood there, waiting for an ambulance, for help, as the guy took everything away from me and didn’t care one bit. He ran after he killed them, he just took off and I watched him go. I still couldn’t do anything, I was still being just so useless.”

“Kid,” Mr. Stark started to talk but Peter was past the point of listening to anyone. The grief, anger, fear, and everything else he’d been feeling that night

“The police came eventually but it was too late, Ben and May both died right there in front of me and all I did was freak out. When the police showed up, I overheard one of them on their radios, the guy who shot them, he ran into this broken down warehouse. As soon as I heard it, it was like something inside of me came to life and I snapped. I took off, I left there and I just ran.”

The words tumbled out of him, one after another, barely giving him time to breathe but he kept going and going.

“I found the warehouse, it wasn’t very far. I got there before the police did and I searched for him. I found him, on one of the top floors and I confronted him.”

There wasn’t nearly enough oxygen in the room, not enough for Peter to breathe in. Staring at the food in front of him so hard his eyes became unfocused, the world around him blurring at the edges. “I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t. I just stood there and I yelled at him. I told him that he ruined my life and he just stood there and I.. and... I lunged at him and… and…”

Finally breaking free of his staring, Peter looked up at Mr. Stark. The man’s face was unreadable, a slight frown, his lips pressed tightly together. He made no movement, no sound, just looked at Peter like he could stare straight into Peter’s soul.

“I need you to believe me, Mr. Stark.” The words came out pointedly, harsh and forceful, like gunshots. He needed Mr. Stark to hear him, needed him to understand this part of the story more than anything else. “I didn’t even touch him, he got scared and fell backward and out the window. I know, I know it’s bullshit, I know it sounds like an excuse but please, Mr. Stark, I didn’t kill him.”

“I believe you,” Mr. Stark said in a small voice, so unlike any other one Peter’s heard from him. “I believe you, Peter.”

Nodding slowly, Peter looked away and back to the food in front of him. He concentrated on the sound of both of her heartbeats, an uneven rhythm that almost clashed with each other. His own heart, fast and loud, thrumming with purpose, Mr. Stark’s wasn’t slow either but not as fast as Peter’s was going. His wasn’t as strong as Peter’s was either, a little weaker sounding, but still going strong, sometimes going in sync with Peter’s, just for a beat before falling out of it. 

There was a shift in the room, from an awkward thickness to something else that Peter didn’t know. Mr. Stark was up and moving and soon sitting next to Peter, he put a tentative hand on the teen’s shoulder as he spoke. “I didn’t mean to spook you about it before. I was just talking out my ass, y’know? You’re a good kid, Pete. You didn’t deserve that, what happened to you.”

“I could have done better,” his voice came out as a croak. He felt Mr. Stark’s hand, warm and reassuming on his shoulder and winced.

“Oh shit, sorry kid,” Mr. Stark said, realizing he had been squeezing the injured one. He moved his hand to the center of Peter’s back instead. Peter dropped his head down, chin hitting his chest. “You did what you could.”

“I had my powers,” Peter repeated, not as loud as before but with just as much force. “And I did nothing and they died for it. I didn’t do anything, Mr. Stark, that’s the problem. I could have done so much more, I could have stopped him.”

Rubbing his hand on Peter’s back in small circles, made Peter feel comfort for the first time in months. He wanted nothing more than to turn and hug the man, feel Mr. Stark’s strong arms around him, holding him to his chest. Tears spilled from his eyes, cold and wet against his cheeks, as he tried to desperately control the small sobs that escaped him. 

It’d been so long since he felt a genuine touch, that he immediately tried to tarnish it into something else. Maybe Mr. Stark didn’t want some stupid crying teenager in his lab, did he? He was just trying to comfort Peter so he’d stop crying like a baby.

“Doesn’t matter, you were, you are a kid. Your uncle and aunt were just trying to protect you. You did nothing wrong, Pete. Breath, okay? Take a deep breath and relax for a minute.”

Not knowing how to respond, Peter focused on his breathing. Taking several deep breaths, that ended in small sobs, his heart was eventually starting to clam, the feeling of panic receding back and away again. The tears had stopped already, he ran his hoodie sleeve over his face and eyes, clearing away the evidence.

“Don’t say sorry, kid.” Mr. Stark’s phone went off the second he finished the sentence. He left Peter’s side to see it on the table and once he saw the screen, he was already answering. “Sorry kid, I have to take this - Hello?” 

Leaving the room in a light job, Peter was left alone again. Trying to clear his mind of the intrusive thoughts, he reached for his burrito, which was now pretty cold. He tried to eat as much as he could, not wanting to waste any of the expensive food Mr. Stark had provided him. He was also certain the Mitchell’s wouldn’t feed him very much today and needed food to help heal his aching shoulder.

He could hear some of the conversations Mr. Stark was having, but his mind wasn’t focused enough to make the conversation clear. Feeling a little overwhelmed still about spilling the whole story to Mr. Stark, Peter tried to think of just about anything else in the world. He felt a little embarrassed and a whole lot of foolish once the panic wore itself out, what would Mr. Stark think of him now? Did he even really believe him at all?

After 10 minutes, Peter finished off his cold burrito and equally cold nachos, his stomach feeling uncomfortably heavy. Hearing Mr. Stark come closer to the lab door, Peter tensed in his seat. Mr. Stark took a few steps into the lab, his cell phone still clutched in his hand. “Hey kid, Happy’s gonna have to come and take you home. I’m sorry to run out on you but something is going on.”

“A mission?” Peter jumped to his feet, eager and ready to get into action if he was needed.

Mr. Stark hesitated before he spoke. “Yeah, but you’re injured right now. I can’t let you go out there, okay? It isn’t anything too big. Next time spidey, I promise.”

Crossing his arms caused a jolt of pain, so he had to drop his arms back to his side. M. Stark was right, he was still sore and wouldn’t be much help if he had such limited movement. His suit still sat on Mr. Stark’s lab table too, not completely repaired just yet. “Okay,” he said, dejectedly.

“Hey, I’ll see you next weekend, alright? Your suit will be ready for you then too. Just take it easy, call if you need anything.”

And then he was gone before Peter could reply. Not knowing exactly what to do, Peter started to clean up the mess of food on the table. Mr. Stark hadn’t finished his dinner, so Peter carefully wrapped everything up and placed the leftovers in the small lab fridge. He didn’t know if Mr. Stark even ate leftovers, but Peter didn’t want all of the food he paid for to go to waste. 

Mr. Hogan showed up just as Peter finished and gave him a chuckle when he noticed what he was doing. “That’s nice of you, Peter.” 

It was the first time Mr. Hogan addressed him by name and Peter was taken aback just a little. He didn’t think the guy knew who he was, but Peter returned his smile and gave him a little shrug.

~*~

Peter was tired. 

His shoulder was aching to an alarming degree. Mr. Mitchell didn’t touch him when he got home, instead, the man yelled at him. Told him off for “playing hooky” with his housework, even though Peter was home in more than enough time. He stood there, defeated and broken from all the emotion he shared with Mr. Stark. He felt like an exposed nerve, too delicate to even touch. Every word out of Mr. Mitchell’s mouth just stung more and more. 

Mr. Mitchell had him make dinner right away, Peter went on autopilot, like so many times before. He tried not to show how much it hurt to move his arm around, a lot more than it had in the lab with Mr. Stark previously. Dinner was quick - it was meatloaf night with potatoes and Peter had several long sessions of sitting around waiting for things to finish cooking where he could zone out all he wanted. 

They didn’t feed him but the food he’d eaten at the lab was good enough, along with two of the meal bars. 

The next day, however, Mr. Mitchell put him through his paces. While his usual weekend chores weren’t horrible, but now it seemed Mr. Mitchell was making up things for him to do. Besides the normal vacuum, cleaning, laundry, and dishes, he found himself on his hand and knees scrubbing the floor. His shoulder hated every second of it, he tried in vain not to move it around too much but he had little choice. After the floor, came the walls and doors and finally, he was to make the two bathrooms in the house the cleanest they’d ever been.

By the time he started to scrub the sink, the pain in his shoulder became too much. Shutting the door to the bathroom, he removed his shirt and bandages, to inspect his wound. There wasn’t much of a scar to speak of, just a very angry looking red line, slightly puckering towards the end of it. The skin around it was not only red but also slightly inflamed. Peter touched the skin lightly, being careful not to apply too much pressure, the skin felt hot to the touch. He didn’t think he had an infection or anything, besides the pain he felt mostly good.

Catching his face in the mirror’s reflection, caught him by surprise for a moment. It amazed him how different he looked now, from the kid he’d been only a year ago. The spider bite had given him better muscles, more defined and capable of swinging. Since he started going out, they’d become even more toned and strong, but the lack of food was working against him. His body was constantly fighting itself, trying to grow and stay strong, but not quite getting there. 

He wondered how many people noticed exactly what he looked like now. Dr. Styles hadn’t commented on anything besides his weight, but didn't see the dark circles under his eyes? Hadn’t she noticed the buries from before, the light smattering of purple and blue that resembled a boot print? 

Ben and May would have noticed. They always could tell when something was wrong with him when he was feeling sad or not feeling well. They knew Peter, better sometimes than he felt he knew himself. But they weren’t around anymore, there was no one around that could look and see that something was wrong with him. Maybe if he still talked to Ned, he would notice, but that option was long gone too. The feeling of being so terribly alone struck him hard in the chest. No one would ever notice him again and would ever notice what was wrong. 

Tears welled in the corner of his eyes, he tried to blink them away but it was no good, the tears spilled down his face.

The sound of Mr. Mitchell screaming his name pulled him out of his thoughts and he quickly pulled the t-shirt back over his head, his shoulder screaming at the movement. A second later the bathroom door opened and Mr. Mitchell stood, glaring at him. Trying to hide his tears, Peter wiped his eyes with his hands.

“Aren’t you done yet?” He spat out, his voice full of anger and contentment. 

“Almost, sir,” he said weakly and turned his head back to the sink. “I just have to finish wiping the sink down.”

“Are you crying?” Mr. Mitchell harshly asked, reaching out and turning Peter back to him. Thankfully he’d used his uninjured shoulder. When Peter did face him, the tears started to stream down his face. He both hated and loved when Peter cried, watching him be weak was fun but hearing it always seemed to set the man off even more. “How fucking pathteic.”

“Sorry, sir," Peter answered, not even bothering with an excuse. There was nothing he could say anyway. 

The sound of Mr. Mitchell’s laugh, hurt Peter’s ears.

The first time Mr. Mitchell struck him, he’d cried. He couldn’t help it, coming from the group home, he was so hopeful that he found an actual family and was devastated at what he found instead. He learned quickly that silence and obedience would get him much farther than tears and questions. It was a lesson that was well implemented into his mind.

“I have no idea what Stark even sees in you. The fact that he kept you overnight last night and even bothers to keep you on some weekends,” he started, sneering affixed to his face, “makes me feel like you offer him something more than your brains.”

Peter let out a choked cry at the words. “No,” he said quickly. “No, no that, I swear, not that. I’m just an intern, I swear.”

Mr. Mitchell rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what you do, honestly.” His grin reminded Peter of the grinch, wide and curling like he was so happy at what he was seeing before him. So happy that Peter was crying in a bathroom that smelled so overwhelming of bleach. 

When he didn’t say anything Mr. Mitchell, grabbed his face, holding his chin in his hands. “You’re lucky we’re still keeping you around. You’re starting to become more trouble than you're worth lately.” 

He held onto Peter’s chin painfully, squeezing and Peter spoke through the pain. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He squeezed Peter’s face again, hard enough for Peter to involuntary yelp as the tears continued to fall down his face. Mr. Mitchell pulled his hand away, looking disgusted at how many tears wetted his hand. 

“Sorry means nothing to me. Prove to me how much you want to live here and get back to work,” he sneered back. 

“Yes, sir,” he responded. Mr. Mitchell left him a moment later, leaving him alone in the small bathroom a headache creeping in slowly, like a dark rainy cloud, and the sickening smell of bleach burning his senses with each inhale of breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wee bit of the mugger's story is taken from the What If May Dies Instead of Ben, where in which Peter goes to scare the mugger who kills May, Ben goes to stop him, the guy falls out of a window and Ben takes the fall for Peter and ends up in jail. That What If was actually the mild inspiration for the entire story, tbh although this story is like it's distant cousin.
> 
> I really do hope the Tony & Peter relationship starts to pay off! I can make Tony place nice when I want to. ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Lynx_the_Defier for the wonderful beta.
> 
> This is sort of a ... nice chapter? I mean, for Peter. As nice as I can possibly be to a character, actually. :>

There were times when Peter thought he could tell someone the whole truth. Times in which he really wanted to, where he felt like the truth was ready to overflow out of him in a rush of words. Everything sat ready, at the tip of his tongue, barely able to swallow it all down.

Sometimes he’d imagine himself telling someone a single sentence, that’s all it would take. Throwing someone a small bone, seeing if someone would take the bait and look further. Maybe he’d casually mentioned how hungry he was all the time, how little they fed him at his foster home. Or maybe he’d let someone see the bruises, the worst of them, a small reveal on “accident” and let the person draw their own conclusions. 

But when he went to open his mouth, it was like something clamped itself around his lungs, refusing to let the air out. A vault sitting in the middle of his chest slammed shut, keeping all of his secrets locked tightly within.

Echoing in his head were Mr. Mitchell’s words, over and over again, stuck on repeat. If someone actually cared about him, they’d already know what’s happening. No one cared about Peter Parker anymore, there was just no one that was left to look at him. If someone cared, they’d have seen the signs of abuse already. If someone cared they would have noticed what was happening. 

With those thoughts circling his head, he knew there was no way he could ever actually tell anyone. There was no way anyone would just believe him, he was just some stupid kid, end of the story.

So he stayed quiet, locked it all up, and threw away the key.

~*~

Without being able to go out as Spider-man, he spent the two internship days of the week at the library. While he enjoyed spending time sitting in front of the warm fireplace, reading, he missed being out and helping people even more. It was beginning to dawn on him, even more now, how much he needed Spider-man to keep himself together. Spider-man was who everyone wanted and needed, Spider-man was the hero and did the right thing. 

When it was just Peter Parker around, that’s when things got hard to deal with. That's when mistakes were made and people got hurt. The days without the suit made him feel jittery, so full of wasted potential, he could barely get himself to sleep. 

By the time he arrived at the Compound the following weekend, he was a mess of anxiety and nerves. His shoulder, however, had started to feel much better and he avoided going to medical by simply going straight to his room. Not wanting to be poked and prodded by anyone, he didn’t think he had the mental strength not to fall apart at a single touch.

And if anyone really cared, they’d go looking for him anyway. 

Focusing on reading in bed, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Mr. Stark walked into the room only 20 minutes or so after he arrived. To his even bigger surprise, Mr. Stark was full of apologies for having ditched Peter in the lab. 

“Sorry about that, kid. I really didn’t have a choice in the matter, there was a HYDRA base takedown that went wrong, Iron Man was needed. Wish I could have stayed to talk, I know you were still feeling a bit off.”

The sincerity of it made Peter choke out a, “Yeah, it’s okay,” quickly, trying hard not to crack under the sudden rush of feelings. Covering up his face with his book, he tried to play off mild disinterest.

A flood of something, like relief came over him, relief that maybe Mr. Stark actually liked Peter just a little. It was a little overwhelming and ridiculous, that something so simple as an apology could bring Peter to the brink of tears. Blaming it on his overall less than stellar emotional state, he cleared his throat before speaking again. “No worries, I’m not mad or anything.”

Mr. Stark hovered in the door frame for a moment. “Why don’t you bring that book of yours down to the lab? I’m almost done with fixing up the suit and I’ve added a few things we can go over too.”

“Oh, yeah, uh, give me a second and I’ll head down there.”

Not wanting to look like an emotional mess in front of Mr. Stark, Peter gestured to the bathroom and disappeared off into it. Splashing cold water on his face, he stared at his reflection again, his face slightly pink, slight bags under his eyes, otherwise pretty presentable.

Waiting until he could no longer hear Mr. Stark’s heartbeat, Peter finally left the bathroom and made his way down to the lab. When he entered, Mr. Stark was already at a table, clicking away at his keyboard. Offering Peter a smile as he walked in, he gestured towards the well worn couch sitting in the corner. Peter headed over, sitting cross-legged on the couch, diving back into his book. 

“You alright there kiddo?” Mr. Stark questioned, engrossed in his book, Peter almost forgot where he was reading at, his head shooting up and over to where Mr. Stark stood.

Opening his mouth to speak, Peter shut it a second later, the word, “no'' almost coming out before he could stop himself, an honest answer for once. Instead, he nodded, adding a shrug for good measure to cover up his hesitation. “Just tired.”

Before Mr. Stark could answer him, the lab’s door swung open and Bruce walked in. He scanned the room and when his eyes landed on Peter, he gave a little nod. “Ah, there you are. You were supposed to come down to medical when you got in.”

Hoping he’d come off as forgetful and surprised instead of deliberately lying, Peter made a face. “Oh, sorry, my shoulder’s feeling fine. I just forgot.”

He offered Bruce a shrug both as an apology and to show him he had decent shoulder movement. 

He couldn’t tell if Bruce fell for it or not. “You can take him now,” Mr. Stark supplied, barely looking up from his work on Peter’s suit.

“Grace said if he can show me a full range of movement, then she’s fine with that. I actually wanted to talk to both of you about some of Peter’s test results anyway.”

Peter tried to hide the worried look on his face, he really didn’t want to deal with more medical. Instead followed along with Bruce’s instructions on moving his arm around and allowed Bruce to look at the healed mark.

“Wow,” he said astonishedly, after seeing Peter’s skin was scar free. Peter pulled his arm back into his shirt as Bruce pulled up a stool. “I still can’t believe how fast your healing is, I’d even say it’s better than Steve’s at this point.”

Not having any idea how to answer, he settled on a brief smile before leaning back on the couch, arms crossed over his chest. It wasn’t like he was really doing anything to make himself heal. 

“Tony, come over here for a minute.”

Mr. Stark made a dramatic sighing sound, but got up and pulled his stool closer to the couch. Once he was settled back down, he gave Bruce a look, which Bruce ignored completely.

“We’ve been monitoring your vitals, Pete, with your AI when you’re out as Spider-man and along with the data we’ve collected from your first visit here, we think we’re pretty good on what the spider bite did to you. We do have a few questions if you’re up for it?”

Peter nodded and Bruce continued. “We think we’ve got your metabolism taken care of. I know Grace is worried about weight gain, but I think we have time to work on that. We’re almost done developing some pain medication for you but we don’t want to rush anything. I take it you haven’t had any major illnesses since the bite?”

“No,” Peter answered. “I mean I got a little sick last Christmas when it got really cold outside but it wasn’t anything like I had before. It maybe lasted a day or so.”

“Yeah, that’s what we thought might be the case. I think you can get sick, you just won’t get sick for long. If you do start to experience a cold or feel under the weather if you’d let us know we can try and give you something to help make you feel better. It’d also be good to run some tests when that happens, so we can data to help you in the future.

There was only one thing that has us a little concerned right now and that’s your body temperature. It seems like it’s all over the board, you rarely keep the same body temperature for very long and sometimes it gets close to being a little dangerous. Especially recently when you’re out in the suit, your body temp drops dramatically.”

Peter nodded, while it hadn’t snowed yet, it was starting to get way too cold outside for Peter’s meager hoodie. With Christmas only a week away, he was hoping the Mitchell’s would get him a coat as a gift. If not, he was going to have to pull some money together. He didn’t know how long he could last with his hoodie. The suit was nice and all but didn’t keep him any warmer.

“Are you familiar with thermoregulation?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, I uh, kinda figured out I might have a problem with that like spiders do. I can’t keep myself warm or cold if the temperature around me is too extreme. It isn’t horrible, I’ve never had a big problem, but uh, yeah, last winter was kinda sucky.”

“I can imagine,” Bruce supplied. “We thought that might be the case. I’m concerned about your ability to stay warm this winter, while you’re out patrolling. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Tony.”

“My turn?” Mr. Stark questioned. “Goodie.”

“I think you need to put some sort of AC and heating system in Peter’s suit, especially if he’s going out in the winter and summer. We need a way to make sure we can help him stay at a good core body temperature.”

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said. “That’s something I can do. Do you want him to smell like a new car too?”

Peter cracked a smile, as did Bruce. “A radio would be nice,” Peter added jokingly, the two adults chuckled.

“Have you been warm enough at home?” Bruce asked him. Sucking in a quick breath, Peter wasn’t expecting that question and didn’t know how to answer. Without a jacket and any other winter gear, he was pretty miserable with the cold. Mr. Mitchell didn’t keep the heat up that high and the school’s heating system was a joke too. 

“Um,” Peter started, trying to think of what to say. He could tell them the truth, run the risk of their judgment and questions, or he could lie. Would they even find out the truth?

“I haven’t seen a jacket on him since we found him. Gloves or hats, either,” Mr. Stark supplied. “I’m assuming, you don’t have any of those?”

“Um,” Peter repeated.

“There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Pete. We just want to help you, if you need it.” Bruce looked genuine, a kind smile on his face, his posture open and relaxed. Mr. Stark too looked at him with a gentle expression, nothing that said pity or embarrassment. 

“Those things are expensive,” he admitted. “Um, I don’t have any of those right now but uh, the um, Mitchell’s will get me a coat for Christmas. They thought I have one now, but I left my last one at the group home and I couldn’t go back for it. It’s not that they don’t care, they just didn’t know and I didn’t really make a big deal out of it, so they must not have realized I only had my hoodie.”

“You sure?” Mr. Stark’s tone suggested he already knew the answer to the question.

“Yeah, I’m sure. They aren’t bad foster parents, really. I’m sure I could ask them and they’d get one for me right away. As I said, it’s my fault, I didn’t say anything when I had the chance and I, mean, I just forget those sorts of things all the time too. It only started getting cold a few days ago, I haven't really noticed the difference that much.”

Neither adults in the room looked like they were buying a single word Peter was selling. Bruce caught Peter’s eye. “It’s important, Peter, that you make sure you’re well cared for, no matter whose care you’re in. You are a genetic rarity and with that comes a lot of uncertainty as to how to keep you safe and healthy. We can run a lot of tests and hypothesize about what might happen, but we absolutely do not want things to happen to you. If you need assistance, even monetarily, you can always ask us for help.”

A lump caught in Peter’s throat, causing him to hesitate. Tears began to swell in his eyes, it was hard to hold them back. Bruce sounded so genuine and caring, it felt like a bucket of cold water was thrown over him. He wasn’t used to this, not anymore, someone reaching out and wanting the best for him. 

His voice was hoarse, his, “Thanks,” a barely there whisper. Clearing his throat, he wiped his eyes with his hoodie sleeve, neither adult making any comments regarding the sudden burst of emotions.

“Alright,” Announced Mr. Stark after a moment of silence. “It’s getting close to dinner time isn’t it?”

Bruce looked to the watch on his wrist and nodded. “Come on, Peter, you haven't had a turn at picking out dinner yet. I’ll show you our choices.”

“By that, he means take out menus,” Mr. Stark supplied. “Go on, I’ll finish up the heater on the suit tonight and when it gets warmer out, I can work on a cooling unit.”

~*~

Peter ended up picking out a Chinese place that looked good based on the menu. It took him by surprise when he realized it’d been a solid year since he’d enjoyed it. Takeout, especially Chinese, was a staple growing up in the Parker household. Finding himself getting emotional over takeout, he had to duck away in the bathroom for a few minutes to collect himself. Normally he didn’t get too upset over something so trivial as takeout but after what happened in the lab, he was still feeling pretty emotional from the conversation earlier.

The food arrived a lot quicker than he expected too as well, Mr. Stark called it a perk of being an Avenger. 

For the first time, Peter didn’t eat alone in the kitchen. Aside from Bruce and Mr. Stark, Wanda, Vision (who wasn’t eating but sat dutifully next to Wanda anyway), Natasha and Clint joined them for dinner. Peter hadn’t had a conversation with Natasha and Clint yet, but neither of them seemed to mind that he was there. Everyone greeted him with the same jovial tone, asking how his day was going and generally trying to encourage him to join their conversation.

Even so, Peter didn’t talk much, instead focused on eating as much of his cashew chicken dish as possible. He’d tried to only order a small but Bruce pretty much disregarded him and ordered him a large instead. Egg rolls kept appearing on his plate, courtesy of Mr. Stark, no matter how much he insisted he was fine. Feeling embarrassed from the attention, he continued to eat all of the food he was provided, trying to ignore the sly looks he kept getting from Bruce and Mr. Stark. 

Eating in front of people was sometimes hard for him, especially when he had to eat more than everyone else. Having two people looking at him every once in a while, just made his stomach turn in a bad way. Still, he ate what he could not wanting to put anything to waste. 

Sitting at the table, surrounded by people talking, eating, enjoying each other’s company, was almost too much. It felt like a family, something Peter missed with every fiber of his being, and yet he couldn’t seem to let himself enjoy any of it. Something sat heavy in the pit of his stomach, weighing him down into his chair. Why couldn’t he just relax and enjoy himself? Why couldn’t he let himself go and join in on their conversation? These people actually wanted him there and yet, all he could do was sit and slowly eat his food.

“Pete?” 

He blinked once and then turned to Mr. Stark, a little dazed. “Yeah?”

There was a chuckle around the table and Peter’s face flushed red a little. They all looked like they were waiting for an answer to a question Peter didn’t hear. “Sorry,” he said. “I uh, I wasn’t paying attention, sir.”

He winched at the additional “sir” at the end of the sentence. Mr. Stark didn’t seem to take notice; instead, he repeated his question. “I asked if you were up for some hand to hand combat training tomorrow with Mr. and Mrs. Smith over there?”

Peter looked up and over at Natasha and Clint, both of whom were looking at him. He nodded his yeah. “Yeah, um, that would be nice. Thank you.”

The rest of the conversation moved on without him and he willingly let it. 

~*~

Despite having eaten his fair share at dinner, Peter’s hunger woke him up close to 4:00 am. This was too much of a normal thing now, being so hungry he couldn’t sleep. He hated his relationship with food, even now when he was getting somewhat better foods, he was still struggling with it.

Sometimes he wished they wouldn’t feed him so well at the Compound, that he didn’t have access to food 24/7 when he was there. It made going back to the Mitchell’s so much harder to deal with. Bouncing back and forth between being full for a weekend, to nearly starving for weeks at a time, was exhausting.

Normally Peter wouldn’t eat anything in the middle of the night, but tonight he risked leaving his room for the kitchen. There was always an abundance of food in the kitchen, he often thought about trying to steal some for his time at the Mitchell’s but he couldn’t get himself to go through with it. Feeling like it was wrong to take something from people who were already giving him way too much, he only felt comfortable accepting the meal bars. 

Arriving in the kitchen, he made his way to the tall cupboard, searching for a nice, quick snack, something he could take back to his room. He thought about taking a few things and leaving them behind but worried about things getting rotten or the cleaning people finding his stash.

A container of trail mix stood out to him as his best bet, it had a variety of things in it. Grabbing the container, he froze when he heard the sounds of footsteps getting closer to the kitchen. There was no place to hide, instead, he shoved the trail mix back into the cupboard and rushed over to start pouring himself a glass of water. That was a lot easier to get away with.

It took him a second but based on the footsteps and heartbeat, he figured it was Steve Rogers and his guess was correct when he turned around to see the man standing in the kitchen. Like Peter he was in his pajamas, a pair of pants, and a t-shirt, Peer could feel his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Oh, hey Peter.” Steve’s tone was casual. “You’re up early.”

Tilting his head, as to gesture to the sink, he held up a cup. “Thirsty.”

Taking the opportunity to prove Peter a liar, his stomach growled, loudly. Steve chuckled. “Hungry too?”

“It’s okay,” Peter said in a rush of words, turning to get his water. 

“If you’re hungry, Peter, by all means, eat. I’m about to make myself some breakfast, I can throw in a few extra eggs for you. I mean, it’s not the best midnight snack, but food’s fuel.”

“This is when you wake up?” Peter asked incredulously. 

Chuckling, Steve nodded. “Side effects of the serum, I don't need as much sleep as the normal person. That and I need to eat a lot more too, so that usually means a good pre-breakfast before everyone gets up and has a real breakfast.”

“Oh.” Finishing getting the cup of water, Peter hovered awkwardly by the sink as Steve made his way over to the fridge. He watched him rummage through and come out with a carton of eggs. 

“You sure you don't want to join me? Doesn’t have to be eggs. There are snacks all over the place here.”

Like a deer caught in headlights, Peter couldn’t decide on what to do. The anxiety he felt when Steve walked in was now climbing with the thought of eating with him. It didn’t help matters that Peter felt so, so stupid over the whole thing. Why was he freaking out overeating with someone? Steve was offering him food, he wasn’t mad at all and yet, he just couldn’t take the offer. 

“N-no thanks,” he stuttered out, finishing the water in one gulp and putting the cup into the sink. He'll wash it tomorrow at some point, he couldn’t. Giving Steve what he knew was a weak smile, he quickly left the kitchen.

Going back to his room, it took a while before dozed off again, hungry like usual. 

~*~

Training with Natasha and Clint, both of whom insisted Peter call them by their first names and none of that “Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barton '' stuff, wasn’t as intimidating as Peter thought it would be. They were nice to him, they took time to explain what they were doing and what they were going to show him how to do.

When he timidly requested to work on defense more than offense, neither batted an eye. Natasha, however, insisted he work on some offensive moves. 

They started by showing him certain moves, demonstrating them alone and then against one another. They both amicably chatted with him while they taught him. It wasn’t a heavy conversation, they mostly asked him about his abilities and what his patrols were like.

After an hour of teaching and copying, Natasha suggested they actually spar with one another. Peter was hesitant at first, knowing he’d have to reign in his strength as not to hurt her. They started slowly, Peter bouncing on his heels as Natasha came at him. 

It was nice, in a weird way. Peter had never really sparred with anyone before, so there was a learning curve but eventually, he fell into it. He was so used to letting Mr. Mitchell use him as a punching bag, it was hard to actually fight back at first. He mostly just let his spider sense tell him when to move and where to go.

“You need to learn what to do when that sense of yours isn’t going to work,” Natasha said to him. “Tony said you get overwhelmed sometimes. I know it’s easy to rely on sometimes that's natural to you, but you can’t let it become a crutch.”

He knew she was right, of course. He got a nice stab wound to the shoulder the last time his senses went a little off. “Okay,” Peter responded, ducking out of the way of her arm. She wasn’t going too hard on him, Peter could tell right away. He’d seen videos of her, he knew she was capable of taking him down in a heartbeat, with or without his senses.

Clint was moving behind him, Peter could sense him moving closer, could hear the sound of his footsteps. He figured they were going to try and distract him but what he didn’t consider was Clint coming at him, grabbing Peter from behind. His brain was screaming at him to move, turn or run but Peter didn’t listen, instead, he allowed Clint to grab him around the middle, pinning his arms to his side. Not holding on too tight, Clint was applying just enough pressure to keep Peter pinned down.

It was more than enough to spend Peter in a spiral of panic. Freezing about instantly, he stopped all movement and instead stood stock still. The only thought in his mind was that of Mr. Mitchell, standing before Peter, demanding his obedience. Not realizing Natasha was heading towards him, he didn’t try to get out of the way of her oncoming punch, instead taking it straight to the side of his face.

“Shit.” Feeling Clint move away from him, he continued standing still, body feeling rigid and rooted. The world seemed to white out around him, all he could see was Mr. Mitchell standing before him, angry and ready to strike again.

“Are you okay?” Natasha’s voice came from the image of Mr. Mitchell before him. 

Peter, his mind somewhere far away from the sparring mat, simply nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Peter?” A voice floated in, coming from somewhere so far away from him. “Peter? Are you okay?”

And then, like a rubber band, his mind suddenly snapped back into place, a rush of sound and light invading his senses. The room was so quiet, Peter could hear the three heartbeats, the sounds of the water running a few rooms down, the sounds of the rest of the Compound, alive with people for once instead of empty.

Feeling overwhelmed, he stumbled backward, a firm pair of hands grabbing at his arm to keep him steady. His brain seemed to come back to him in the next heartbeat and he realized he’d been standing on the mat, staring straight past Natasha and Clint. “Sorry,” he said automatically, his body sagging now, relaxed. “Sorry, I just blanked out. I’m fine.”

The two spies clearly did not buy anything he was selling. “You sure you’re okay? Nat packs a pretty lean left hook.”

Suddenly remembering what had happened, Peter brought his hand up to his cheek. He wasn’t in any pain his whole face felt numb. “No, I’m good. Uh, don’t even feel it.”

“I think we’re good for today anyway,” Natasha started, taking one step closer to Peter, who instinctively took a step backward. “You did good today, Peter. We’ll have to keep up with some kind of regular hand to hand combat training.”

“Thank you, um, for helping me. Yeah, I uh, I’d like that.”

Not wanting to stick around for much longer, Peter waved goodbye before grabbing a towel and his water bottle, heading straight for his showers instead of the one in the gym. Even as he walked in the hallway, he could hear Clint and Natasha talking about him, his name coming through, but he pushed the conversation away, into the back of his mind. 

When he opened the door to his room, several boxes were sitting on the bed with a notecard perched on top. Curiously, Peter walked over and opened the card. 

_ Consider this an upgrade, Happy Christmas. - TS _

The first box contained his suit repaired and upgraded suit. Giving it a once over, he moved on to opening the biggest of the boxes. Inside that one was a sleek black winter coat. Taking it out, he could see the inside was lined with fleece and a fancy designer name tag hanging from one of the sleeves. Pulling it on over his gym close, he felt warmer than he had in days. The coat was a little too big on him, the sleeves going well past his hands, but it was cozier than anything Peter had ever owned.

Opening the other smaller boxes, Peter found a set of black gloves, scarf, and wool that seemed to match his jacket perfectly. Along with that another set of these items, but this time in red and blue, matching his spider suit. The very last box contained snow boots and two pairs of obviously fuzzy socks, both of which had Iron Man on them.

Not trusting himself not to burst into tears or otherwise make a fool of himself, he grabbed a piece of paper and pen, jotting down a quick thank you. Before he left for home, he made sure to swing past Mr. Stark’s office, leaving the note sitting on one of his lab tables.

~*~

It was easier just to walk into the house with the coat on and bite the bullet than try to hide it. They were going to see it sooner or later, Peter just had to deal with it. Entering the front door, he caught sight of Mrs. Mitchell, sitting at the kitchen table.

Peter rarely talked to or was talked to by Mrs. Mitchell. She seemed really content in ignoring him completely, only occasionally yelling at him over something trivial. She turned a blind eye to everything her husband did, barely even raising an eye at how he treated Peter.

The second she saw Peter, her eyes honed in on the jacket, even as he hurriedly tried to take it, along with the mittens and hat before she could get a good look.

“Come over here and let me see.”

Stopping his movements, Peter kept his jacket and mittens on, walking over to the kitchen. He stopped by the table, allowing Mrs. Mitchell to get a good look at him. Her loud laugh echoed in the empty kitchen as if Peter standing there was the funniest thing she’d ever seen before.

“Where did you get those?” She asked, her voice laced with an accusation as if she thought Peter stole them. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter answered truthfully. 

“Maybe Colby was right about what you’ve been doing with your internship. I wonder how many times you had to get on your knees to deserve that jacket.”

“It was a Christmas present,” he defended himself and to the extent, Mr. Stark. It was fruitless, Mrs. Mitchell didn’t care about what he had to say, she was always going to keep degrading him.

“Right, like an actual superhero would ever give you a Christmas present,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I don’t understand how delusional you can be, Parker. You seem to operate in this fantasy where you matter to people in some way. Do you think kids who are cared about end up here?”

Not having any type of answer for her, he kept his mouth shut. Every ounce of happiness and comfort he had gathered over the weekend, was slowly leaking away.

“Don’t think we haven’t seen that fancy new phone you have too,” she sneered. Peter hadn’t shown them the phone Mr. Stark gave him, but he didn’t exactly hide it either. His old phone was prepaid, the Mitchell’s didn't pay for it and they didn’t pay for the new one either.

“Mr. Stark gave it to me for emergencies,” Peter countered. 

“Maybe we should go through the rest of your backpack, see what other goodies your sugar daddy’s given you.”

Peter stilled, his body going rigid. 

His suit was in the backpack, sitting in plain sight. 

How could he be so stupid and careless? He should have hidden it better, kept it somewhere else, not just sitting in an unsecured backpack. What would Mr. Stark think of him being so careless with something so expensive? He unconsciously gripped his shoulder straps tighter. There was no way out of this, if she wanted in the backpack, she was getting in it. 

“N-no, there’s… um, nothing else, just gloves, the hat, and some socks. That’s all.”

“Aw, what’s got little Petey all stuttery?” She cooed at him in a high pitched voice. She didn’t move to get up, Peter was hoping she was all talk right now and just trying to humiliate him. 

“Nothing,” he said definitely, raising his chin just a little higher than usual. The room was deadly silent, Peter could hear both of their heartbeats, the ticking of the clock, the sound of the neighbor's dog barking. 

Looking him over, she narrowed her eyes when she met Peter’s face as if she was trying to be a human lie detector test. Trying to keep his face as blank as possible, he met her gaze, forcing himself to breathe normally. He was feeling sweaty, a little shaky, like he was under a bright spotlight in the middle of their kitchen. 

He couldn’t give her a single reason to look into his backpack, even if it meant lying about his relationship with Mr. Stark. He’d give in, if she asked, just to protect his secret. Protect the only thing that brought him joy anymore. Peter Parker was ready to be anything if it meant he could protect Spider-man.

Whatever Peter showed in his face, she seemed to take it as the answer she wanted. That or she just didn’t want to get up and actually look at what he had. 

“Colby is out of the house right now but he should be home in an hour. We both expect dinner to be ready at that time. Do you understand?”

Nodding, Peter took off out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the safety of his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and kudos! It truly makes my day when I get the email notifications! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the last chapter was the calm before the storm this one is the clouds that arrive right before the storm rolls in. Things are ramping up!!!!!!
> 
> Warning: There are more sexual innuendos made about Peter and Tony's relationship, it's not true but more aggressive language is used. And there is an increase in swearing.

Thanks to Christmas break and New Years', Peter had almost two solid weeks off from school. He used that time wisely, telling Mr. Mitchell he had more internship hours and instead hit the streets as Spider-man. Patrolling for several uninterrupted hours was a welcome relief, a way to not only keep himself distracted from life, but a way to destress just a little.

The heater in the suit was amazing, he kept it on nearly the entire time he was out and sometimes even when he was home, under his clothing. He knew it was risky, but the appeal of staying warm felt worth it. Once he’d gotten a taste for not constantly freezing, he couldn’t go back to the cold.

Celebrating the holiday alone, the Mitchell’s didn’t get him anything or include him in their celebrations. They were mocking Peter, having large dinners for the two of them but barely allowing him anything in return. It was very clear they were trying to show Peter just how much control they had over him. Forced to eat extra bars, he ran out of his normal supply quicker than he expected to. Spending more time out as Spider-man, also meant he burned more energy and actually needed those bars on top of his meals to just feel strong.

Digging into the meager petty cash he was hoarding, Peter found himself having to buy cheap fast food almost every day. Focusing on anything that had enough protein or sugar, wasn’t the best choice of meals, but it kept him moving. Figuring that Dr. Styles would expect him to gain some weight over the holidays, he hoped the greasy fast food would add a pound or two. He didn’t eat much, but it was enough to make him feel a little sick the first time he went swinging afterward. His body wasn’t really used to this kind of food and just how often he was now eating it.

A few times he was rewarded for his Spider-man duties with free food. He couldn’t have been more grateful for something as small as a free churro from a little old lady whose groceries he helped her carry. A hot dog cart owner always gave him a free hot dog if he saw him since Peter stopped him from getting robbed a few weeks prior. He felt like the city of Queens was looking out for him, even if they didn’t realize it.

The weekend after school started again, he spent Saturday cleaning the fridge, a task Peter felt was random and only meant to annoy him. The Mitchell’s wanted him to see how much food they had available, wanted him to know just how much they were keeping from him. As much as he knew what they were trying to do, it still unsettled him just enough.

Finishing up, he headed back up to his room. When he reached the top of the steps, Mr. Mitchell started up the stairs after him. Hoping the man was not going to bother him, Peter didn’t bother stopping, instead walked straight into his room.

“Parker!” Mr. Mitchell barked at him as soon as Peter hit the threshold. “Who told you to head up to your room?”

“Sorry sir, I finished cleaning the fridge and I thought that’s all you wanted from me.”

Laughing obnoxiously, Mr. Mitchell rolled his eyes. “You thought? What have I told you about thinking? All that extra time spent with Stark, you’re acting like you know better than anyone else in this house. Are you too good for us now?”

“N-no, sir.”

“That isn’t good enough,” Mr. Mitchell continued, as he took two steps forward into the room and towards Peter. “Tell me what an idiot you are, what a waste of space you are. Go on!”

Replying without any real sincerity to his voice, Peter simply repeated the words Mr. Mitchell seemingly wanted to drill into his head. “I’m a waste of space. I’m stupid and worthless.”

There was always an internal battle raging in his head when he repeated the mantra, fighting himself on whether or not he really believed what he was saying. He knew this was just more manipulation from Mr. Mitchell but sometimes it seemed to work. Today, however, felt different. He was just repeating what was being said, he really didn’t believe it, not totally at least.

Doing good out there as Spider-man, made Peter feel important, made him feel like he wasn’t the words Mr. Mitchell kept telling him he was.

“Do you know what I think?” Stalking forward Mr. Mitchell was almost toe to toe with Peter before he stopped. “I think every time you suck Stark’s dick, you think you’re getting smarter.”

“I’m not!” Peter didn’t mean to yell, but the reaction burst out of him. Looking more and more pissed, Mr. Mitchell didn’t bother to respond, instead of raised a hand, getting ready to deliver his blow.

Just as Mr. Mitchell began his swing, Peter reached out and grabbed the man’s hand. Reminiscent of a move that Natasha had shown him only a few weeks ago, Peter had successfully stopped the oncoming assault.

The look of shock on Mr. Mitchell’s face, mirrored the one on Peter’s. Fighting back was never something he wanted to do. He just couldn’t risk hurting Mr. Mitchell with his strength. It didn’t matter how much Mr. Mitchell hurt him, deep down inside he knew the man would never kill him or close to it, but Peter, on the other hand, could kill him with one wrong move.

It was always too risky.

Shock melted away to anger on Mr. Mitchell’s face, a look that had Peter taking a step back in instant fear. “Did you just stop me?”

Reaching out, Mr. Mitchell grabbed Peter’s arm, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and holding his hand up. “Did you really think you could stop me? Did you honestly think it was a wise decision?”

“N-no-no sir,” Peter stuttered out. “Sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me. It was just, I just reacted, sir.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, that’s all you ever say and yet you do nothing at all. You’re worthless, Parker. A worthless dick sucking whore, who can’t even do one single thing right.” Squeezing his fingers around Peter’s wrist, he practically spat in his face with each syllable.

Tears started in Peter’s eyes, Mr. Mitchell seemed to take that as fuel to continue. “Do you think you’re brave or something? Special maybe? You aren’t. You’re worthless to everyone around you and this, this attempt at fighting back? It’s laughable. When will you get it through your thick skull, huh?”

“Please,” Peter winced, it wasn't the pain of his grip, but of his words that felt like daggers. He just wanted Mr. Mitchell to go away, he would much rather take the physical pain over what he was saying. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Aw, am I hurting little Petey’s feelings?” Mr. Mitchell mocked him. “Do you want a hug? Do you need your sugar daddy Stark to come and make you feel better?”

As he spoke he twisted Peter’s wrist, slowly but applying a fair amount of pressure. Peter tried to hold back the yelp, when he felt like his wrist couldn’t twist anymore. It didn’t matter that he was stronger than him, that he could stop Mr. Mitchell, at that moment he was nothing, he was just as powerless and small as Mr. Mitchell said he was.

“Where’s all the fight you had a minute ago? Aren’t you going to stop me?” When Peter didn’t answer, he just laughed and kept on twisting. “Pathetic. Just like I thought. This is for your own good, Parker. You need to learn your place in the world.”

The snap of Peter’s wrist echoed through the room and silenced both of them. At once Mr. Mitchell dropped his arm. Peter instinctively cradled it close to his chest. The pain was intense, triggering another set of tears down his face. Gasping for air, Peter stumbled backward, trying to find a way out of the situation before it got any worse. His head was swarming, his mind going a mile a minute.

“Hospital,” Mr. Mitchell barked at him, his wide eyed gaze locked onto Peter’s wrist. “Right now. We’ll tell them you fell or something, I don’t care, just get… get downstairs.”

A look of fear blanketed his face, one that Peter had never seen before. Was he that worried Peter would spill about the injury? Knowing he clearly didn’t care about Peter’s well being, it had to be his fear of CPS seeing what happened and launching an investigation.

“N-no,” Peter stuttered through the tears, breathing heavily and suddenly so close to a complete meltdown. “No.. no hospital. They.. they… can’t know…”

Peter knew Mr. Mitchell thought he was pathetic enough to want to protect him, when in reality Peter couldn’t risk them finding out about his enchantments. If his bones started to mend themselves, or if they took his blood they could potentially find out about him. Getting medical care was not worth the risk of his identity slipping to the public. The chance of CPS finding out about the abuse wasn’t worth it either, who knows what they’d do with an enhanced orphan.

“Fuck,” Mr. Mitchell said, eyes firmly locked on Peter's arm, tight against his chest. He moved towards Peter, who in turn took a step back.

“Stay away,” he grounded out. “Go away, I can… I can deal with this.”

Mr. Mitchell’s demeanor changed like a coin flip. What was once a bit of hesitation and fear, was now back to anger and resentment. “You better,” he chided. “I don’t want to hear a peep out of you about this. Don’t you tell anyone, you got me? If I get a single phone call from school or from Stark, the broken wrist will be the least of your problems. Capisce?”

Nodding, Peter had no real clue what he was going to do about this wrist, but he knew he didn’t want Mr. Mitchell anywhere near him.

Leaving the room without another glance, Mr. Mitchell slammed the door behind him, taking all the tension and unease out of the room with him. Taking a few deep breaths, Peter waited until he felt a little more steady before reading towards the meger first aid kit.

~*~

Mr. Mitchell barely looked at Peter when he came down in the morning for school the next morning. If the man was worried about Peter’s wrist, he made no show of it. Not wanting to give the man an inch, he went about his morning as if nothing was wrong, showing no outwards signs of weakness or pain.

The first few class periods went by slowly. Peter kept his wrist close to his chest still, wishing he’d found a sling of some sort. The pathetic ace bandage around it did nothing to keep it from moving. He figured it would take another two days, maybe three, to heal. He worried it would heal wrong since he had no idea what state his bone was in. The wrist hurt, it was angry looking, a little swollen, and very red. He couldn’t get much movement out of it, which meant he wasn’t going out as Spider-man anytime soon.

Or so he thought.

He was making his way to lunch when his phone alert went off. Since “joining” the Avengers, he put out a few news alerts for big events that the team might be a part of. Figuring Mr. Stark might not always call him for them, he wanted to be on top of things in case he was needed.

Ducking into a stairwell, as not to stop in the middle of the hallway, he fished out his phone with his good hand. The notification was the first thing that greeted him. There was someone or something attacking people in downtown Manhattan. It wasn’t a portal from the sky, but reports sounded like there were robots that had started causing havoc. There weren’t any messages from Mr. Stark, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t needed. If they were too busy, they might not be able to call for help.

Bringing up Mr. Hogan’s name, his fingers hovered above the call button. Was it worth calling Mr. Hogan? What if he told Peter to stay put? What if he didn’t answer at all? He figured they didn’t call him right away because he was in class. Certainly saving the world was more important than staying in class, wasn’t it? Despite not being able to go out, he still had his suit shoved down in his backpack, it was sitting there, calling out to him to be the hero he was meant to be.

It was a split second decision.

He was going to do it, broken wrist be damned. This was Peter’s time to show he could handle the little things and the big scary Avenger level threats. If he was careful enough, Mr. Stark would never even know about the broken wrist or he could pretend he got it while helping too. It was the perfect way to get the medical attention he needed without any of the risks.

Rushing out of the school, he found an alleyway only a few blocks from the school building. Changing his suit was a little difficult with his broken wrist, but he managed. Using his webbing, he was able to secure a little better of a “cast” around his wrist.

Despite the makeshift cast, web shooting was not nearly as fun as it usually was. Each swing was a very painful reminder of the state of his bones, but he pushed through every second of it.

“Hey, Karen, what’s going on with the Avengers?”

“Hello Peter,” she greeted him. “We are not currently in communication with the Avengers, however, based on several news feeds, they appear to be engaged in a battle with unknown robots.”

“Cool, can you lead me a path to them? Can we get on their coms?”

“I’ve indicated the quickest path available. At this time I am unable to connect with their communications, we should be able to connect once you have arrived. It seems that you are injured, Peter. Shall I contact Mr. Stark to alert him of your injury?”

“No thanks Karen,” Peter answered. “I’ll let him know okay? Keep me updated if anything with the team changes.”

It took him a little longer than usual to get into the city, his wrist was one thing but once he got into the city, there were a lot of people trying to get out of the way. Karen kept up a steady stream of updates, the Avengers seemed to be doing a decent job of stopping the robots. Karen indicated a perimeter they created around downtown, blocking the robots from going very far.

Peter knew from the Sokovia situation that tensions were a bit high when it came to super hero teams. The Accords promised to fix that by trying to regulate what they can and can’t do, while it could have led to disaster, it seemed to work out. Now, while superhero teams were regulated, they weren't government controlled, instead, they were under guidelines and the watchful eye of SHIELD. The team also seemed more concerned with preventing as much collateral damage as possible now too.

When Peter was close enough to see the robots running amok, Karen announced her connection into the Avenger’s coms.

“Hey guys,” he chirped, coming to land on a roof overseeing the situation. The perimeter looked pretty secure, but Peter could see a few robots trying to get past the barricades.

“Kid, where’d you come from?” Mr. Stark asked, almost immediately. Peter looked to the sky to see if he could find him but he only caught sight of Falcon, swooping through the air. He gave a little wave, wondering if he could see him.

Falcon didn’t wave back.

“School,” he said. “Thought I’d see if you needed help.”

The comms were silent and Peter assumed they were talking privately without him. After nearly a full minute of silence, Mr. Stark came back in on the line. “Can you keep the north perimeter secure? Don’t go after any of the robots, just make sure they don’t breach.”

“Sure,” Peter answered, relieved he was getting to do something.

Making his way over to the north perimeter, he started webbing up any of the robots he could see. Up close the robots weren’t all that impressive looking, they were about his height, with human like faces but still a very stereotypical robot appearance.

They looked kinda low budget sci-fi, but they seemed to move around easily. They weren’t shooting lasers from their eyes, however, which was always good.

There wasn’t much Peter could do to destroy the robots, not without engaging in some kind of combat. Instead, he went to task webbing them up to various objects when one got close enough to the end of the city block. He had a few webbed to some cars, one to a fire hydrant, and a pack of them webbed together. He was able to avoid using his wrist, for the most part, jumping and sticking to buildings and shooting from his one good wrist.

He’d just sent two of them to the side of a building when Iron Man landed down the block from him. He hadn’t heard any chatter over the coms, he figured they blocked him from the team channel. It didn’t bother him, it was easier to focus if he didn’t have a lot of background talking.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter called out when Iron Man came closer to him. “How’s it going?”

Iron Man looked around at the hanging creatures, before his mask fell away from his face, leaving Mr. Stark looking at Peter. He looked tired, he was sporting a particular large bruise on the right side of his face, but nothing else looked amiss. “Good job,” Mr. Stark commented. “Things look to be setting down here.”

“Cool. Where did these guys come from? What are we going to do with them?” Peter asked, he watched one of the robots try to brute force itself out of the webbing, without much luck. Adrenaline running high, he was proud of himself and hoped everyone else felt that way too.

“Evil scientist,” Mr. Stark answered. “They are all hive minded, we’re working on turning off the main robot. It’ll drop the rest of them pretty quickly. I like it when the bad guy makes it easy on us.”

Opening his mouth to reply, Peter snapped his jaw shut quickly, his spider sense alerting him of oncoming danger. Looking past Mr. Stark, he could see a robot heading towards a small group of civilians that had stayed way too close to the action. Mr. Stark could have handled it, he was just a few steps in front of Peter, still in his Iron Man armor. But Peter’s need to prove himself outweighed common sense and he took off towards the robot.

Shooting out a web to latch on a street post, he swung his body towards the robot, kicking it off to the side. Things would have worked out fine, had it not been for the broken wrist. The impact of his feet hitting the robot was just a little too much and he instinctively let go of his webbing with his broken wrist. The movement threw off his entire swinging motion, he swung, one handed past the robot, and let go, dropping to the ground in a less than graceful landing. His feet hit the ground but ended up swaying and falling down to his butt.

Making one more mistake, he tried to stop his fall by bracing himself with the broken wrist, only to scream out in pain the second the wrist made contact with the hard concrete.

“Are you okay?”

Mr. Stark was at his side a second later, bending down and holding out a hand for Peter to take. Hesitantly, Peter reached out with his good hand, allowing himself to be pulled back up to his feet. He swayed on the spot, a wave of dizziness passing over him, spots looming in his field of vision. His wrist was screaming with pain, worse than when it was originally broken. Hissing, he brought the wrist back up to his chest.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, trying not to let anything come out in his voice. Mr. Stark’s mask was back up, covering his face and Peter couldn’t tell if the man was buying it or not. “‘M fine.”

“Yeah, no,” Mr. Stark said, Peter could hear him talking on the coms too. “Medical, Spidey’s got a broken wrist.”

“Ah,” Pete said. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. I’ve been dealing with it.”

The mask retracted from Mr. Stark’s face. “You’ve been dealing with it?”

Peter realized his mistake a little too slowly, the pain was making his brain a little fuzzy. “Am dealing with it. As in present tense. Dealing with it now. As we speak. This is me, dealing with it.”

“FRIDAY, scan him. Find out from Karen if he arrived with the broken wrist or if it’s new.”

“Please,” Peter started, but knew it wasn’t worth it, he was gonna find out now. There was absolutely no way around it. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? Why did he think he could just lie to Mr. Stark?

FRIDAY ratted him out a second later and Mr. Stark pointed to a bench and quite literally, benched him. “Sit here and wait for medical. Do not get up, do not pass go, do not collect $200.”

Feeling embarrassed, Peter could only nod and take a seat, as Iron Man flew off and away.

~*~

There wasn’t much medical could do for Peter on the scene, so he was transported by SHIELD to the Tower. Dr. Styles was there, waiting for him, without an ounce of judgment on her face. Relaxing for the first time since everything happened, he let her look over the broken wrist. She was careful, making Peter feel comfortable throughout the entire exam and the x-ray she insisted on getting.

“It looks like the bone was already healing at one point, but I think you might have broken it again when you fell. Honestly, it’s a good thing that happened, now I don’t have to break the bone again to set it correctly.”

Peter was relieved, allowing Dr. Styles to place a soft cast around his wrist, thankful it wasn’t a big bulky one. He would have no idea how to explain the appearance of one to Mr. Mitchell. This cast he could take off when he got home, or just lie and said he purchased one.

“You should only need the cast for a day or two, I think. Just try to limit your movement and, I shouldn’t have to say this, but Peter, please don’t go patrolling.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter concluded, as he sat back in the hospital bed. “I promise I’ll do better.”

Dr. Styles had said he could either go home or stay the night. He wanted to head home, but Mr. Stark was on his way back to the Tower and sent a message for Peter to stay put.

“Peter,” Dr. Styles said softly, her tone was never too harsh with him. “You don’t have to be sorry, just be careful okay? Not that I don’t mind seeing you but I’d rather it be for better things than broken wrists. Your body may heal, but you aren’t invincible, okay?”

She left him in the room, as he waited for Mr. Stark to return. The TV on the wall was on the news channel and Peter watched as the Avengers took out all of the robots. Slightly embarrassed, the news also showed off a video of him, swinging with wild abandonment, webbing up several robots. There was also footage of his little accident but it didn’t look too bad, especially since there was no audio with it.

When Mr. Stark came into the room, he looked a lot more tired than the last time Peter saw him. He walked over, his arms crossed over his chest, wasting absolutely no time before questioning him. “I would like to know what you thought you were doing out there.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said automatically, sitting up straighter in the bed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Karen said you had a broken wrist when you put on the suit. When did it happen? Why didn’t you get a cast?”

“I fell at home the other day, sir.” He had his story ready to go, having more than enough time to prepare. He was going with the fell down the stairs route, despite how predictable and cliche it might be. Mr. Stark would have no reason to doubt him, not really. “I was too scared to go to the hospital, I didn’t want anyone finding out about me. It’s okay, really, I heal fast so I was just going to...you know… let it heal?”

“Kid.”

There was a lot of emotion in the way Mr. Stark said the word. A whole lot of concern, maybe even some fondness, but there wasn’t a whole lot of anger. No one had ever really called him kid before Mr. Stark. Ben liked to call him Pete or Bud, May called him Petey a lot when he was little but that was about it when it came to nicknames. He’d heard Mr. Stark call almost everyone on the team by some random nicknames before, so he never really took it as something that was… well, personally.

But something in the way Mr. Stark said, it felt personal. He wasn’t trying to insult Peter or degrade him, there was too much fondness in the word for that. It wasn’t just a random thing, it had something behind it. Something that Peter wasn’t used to anymore.

Walking over closer to the bed, Mr. Stark leaned against it. “Why didn’t you come here? You know the medical staff here. You should have texted Happy.”

“I…,” Peter trailed, not knowing exactly how to answer his question. He looked away from Mr. Stark and down to his lap. “I just didn’t think about it… it just never came to my mind.”

It wasn’t the truth, he had thought about it briefly. It was the idea of having to explain himself like he was now, that really turned him off the idea.

“Just like you didn’t really think about it when you ditched school today to fight robots?”

Peter remained silent, the anxiety was simmering again, bubbling inside of him, making his stomach ache a little. He wasn’t scared of Mr. Stark, he really wasn’t, but he couldn’t help his reaction. He felt fidgety, the fingers of his good hand tapping against his bad arm as he held it. There was very little anger in Mr. Stark’s voice, it almost made the whole thing a lot worse. The anger he could deal with was normal, but this was something entirely.

“I don't understand it, Peter. You’re a smart kid but these were two really stupid decisions.”

“I just didn't think it was important, sir. I heal fast and I just wanted to help you.” The words came out in a rush, the jittery feeling building up even more. God, Mr. Stark thought he was such an idiot now. Why did he think anything he did was a good idea? He should have thought harder about leaving school to play the hero. It was never going to work out, with or without the broken wrist.

“I get it, kid, you want to do good but going out there injured is the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing. You need to tell someone when you’re hurt and stay in school.”

There was no yelling, no harsh words. His anxiety felt like it was being extinguished, he had no reason to be so worked up. Mr. Stark wasn’t going to hurt him, he had no reason to be so nervous. Posture deflating a little he leaned further back into the bed hanging his head down.

Mr. Stark wasn’t angry, he was just disappointed. And in a small way, it was almost a little worse. To be disappointed in Peter, meant that at some point, Mr. Stark had faith in him and his abilities.

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think, you’re right. I was being stupid.”

“Pete,” Mr. Stark responded quickly, he let out a loud sigh. “You’re not stupid, alright? You just didn't make the best decision and you have to realize that. You can’t go around thinking you’re invincible. You could have gotten seriously hurt out there today, Pete. Especially with a broken wrist. There was a reason we didn’t call you, you’re still training, you’ve still got a lot more left to learn. And you have to show us that we can trust you. The team can’t trust someone who lies about injuries.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, kid, I hear you say that. You just gotta do better, be better than this. Show me that you’re responsible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to leave the suit with me, I want to put in a few updates to Karen.”

For a moment Peter thought he was going to take away this suit forever, that he disappointed the man so much. “Oh, what, what kind of um, updates?”

“To make sure you aren't keeping any secrets. It’s for your own good, kid.”

A sudden wave of nausea took over so quickly, he grimaced. Peter could feel the blood rushing from his face and he swallowed roughly. “Um, I don’t… keep secrets, from um, anyone. Ever. Nope. No secrets.”

The chuckle from Mr. Stark didn’t do anything for his nerves, instead, it almost made him feel worse. Why did he think he could keep secrets from Mr. Stark? From anyone? Karen could spill the beans any second now, couldn’t she?

But would that be okay? What would be the harm now if Mr. Stark found out what was happening? Peter opened his mouth to speak, the words getting ready to tumble out but they got stuck somewhere in his chest, all he could do was sit there, mouth agape, trying desperately to just reach out for help.

But why? What was telling Mr. Stark really going to do? Yeah, he’d get removed from the Mitchell’s but where would he go after? Another group home? What if it’s not anywhere in Queens? What if they don’t let him continue the internship? What if Mr. Stark sees how weak he is and decides Peter can’t be Spider-man? Or worse yet, what if Mr. Stark really doesn’t believe him?

“Pete?” He blinked at the sound of his name, brain slowly coming back from its spiral, but apparently not fast enough. “Are you okay?”

“I’m,” Peter’s voice cracked and he swallowed and tried again. “I’m f-fine. I just don’t, please don’t record everything I d-do.”

“Pete, I never said I was going to record everything you do.”

“I - I want my privacy.”

“And you can have it. I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Pete. I’m just trying to help you.”

Nodding his head, Peter breathed again, two large deep breaths. The whole day was starting to settle down on him, he just wanted to go home and rest. Get away from the disappointment and anger that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

“I’m not trying to spy on you. The protocol is in place to keep you safe and report major injuries to me, in case you are otherwise incapacitated.”

“I,” Peter started but didn’t know exactly where he was going with it. “I don’t like knowing someone can just… watch me and know everything I’m doing.”

“Is that what your foster parents do?”

The question was a bucket of ice water, the sudden chill washed over Peter so quickly, he had to hold back a flinch. His breath caught and he tried to answer before he was able to compose himself. “N-no, no, not at all. Nothing like that, no.”

“Alright,” Mr. Stark said just as quickly. “Everything is okay there right?”

“Y-yes.”

The lie came out so quickly, the truth never even had a chance.

“If something’s wrong, you could tell me.”

The opportunity that Peter thought about was presenting itself, but he couldn't take it. Instead, he nodded and then added a shrug. “They can be… overbearing sometimes… just… really don’t leave me with a lot of privacy and I just don’t like the thought of always being watched. Being Spider-man is… where I go to be free of all of that stuff.”

“Well,” Mr. Stark started. “I’m sure they are just trying to keep you safe, Pete. That’s all I’m trying to do, okay? It’s not invasive in the least, Karen will just update me on your vitals and automatically contact me if they pass a certain threshold. Sound alright?”

It didn’t sound alright at all. What if Karen saw an injury from Mr. Mitchell and reported it? There was no way he could come up with excuse after excuse, things were already getting hard enough as it was.

“Why can’t you just trust me?”

“I tried that,” Mr. Stark responded with a flat tone. “And you showed up to a fight with a broken wrist and a lot of excuses.”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, Mr. Stark held up a single finger. “Don’t,” he said. “There’s nothing else you can say to make me change my mind. If you want to be treated like an adult, you’ve got to act like an adult.”

“I am an adult,” he mumbled. “You trust me with the suit! You trust me to help people.”

“No you’re not, you’re a kid. And I trust you to stay close to the ground, to help little old ladies with groceries and get cats from trees. Not to ditch school and show up with a broken wrist and not bother telling anyone. Once you can prove to me you’re capable of that, then I’d consider taking off the training wheels and you can join the big leagues.”

There were a lot of arguments Peter was wanting to make, a lot of things he wanted to say but at that moment, he didn’t. It was just easier to give in, to listen to the adult in his life tell him what to do. What made him ever think he could be Spider-man? He couldn’t even clean his room half the time.

“I’m not trying to be mean, kiddo. This is for your own good, I want you to be better.”

Those words felt like a stab to the heart. Just like Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Stark needed him to be better. Just being Peter Parker was never going to be enough. Shutting his eyes, he kept his head hanging low on his chest. Just like Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Stark was doing things for Peter’s own good, because apparently he couldn’t be put in charge of it.

“Yes, sir.”

He wasn’t sure if Mr. Stark even heard him. He felt rather than see Mr. Stark come closer and he did everything he could not flinch when Mr. Stark’s hand landed on his shoulder.

It was difficult to see his touch as comfort. He was so used to things going only one way, yelling, anger and pain. To have something different, to have Mr. Stark touch him and for there to be no pain, it is almost too much to deal with. He would almost prefer the usual over this, especially since had no idea how he was supposed to act. Mr. Stark was clearly disappointed in him, though Peter should be better, and yet, he wasn’t screaming and yelling, he was just there and now, he was trying to comfort him.

The whole thing reminded him of fights with Ben. There was rarely any yelling, they barely argued but sometimes they’d get into it. Peter would always storm off, slamming the door and sitting on his bed, pouting away. Ben would come in shortly after, always so apologetic, and sit next to Peter until he felt like talking again. The day would always end with a movie on the couch and a feeling of love and contentment. Ben never let things get too far, never made Peter feel like he wasn’t good enough just as he was.

Mr. Stark was oddly silent for several minutes, his hand still sitting on Peter’s shoulder.

“Happy’s gonna come and get you in a few minutes to take you home, alright?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Pete, look at me a second, will you?”

Lifting his head, he looked over at the man. Mr. Stark waited until he had Peter’s attention. “You’re a good kid, okay? You just have to think before you act every once in a while. Alright?”

“Yeah, okay.”

~*~

Mr. Hogan dropped him off in front of the Mitchell’s home, handing off the backpack Mr. Stark had sent someone to retrieve for him. He still had on the soft cast, he thought about taking it off before he walked into the house but couldn’t be bothered. He made his way inside, toeing off his shoes and hanging up his jacket.

He could hear the sounds of the TV playing in the living room and on automatic, walked into the room, and stopped at the doorway.

Mr. and Mr. Mitchell were sitting on the couch watching footage of the Avengers from earlier in the day. He caught sight of himself again, it was a little jarring to see Mitchell watching him on TV. There was no way they could possibly figure out that he was Spider-man but he suddenly worried they’d recognize him somehow.

His stomach let out a little growl, neither person on the couch turned to look at him. He left school before lunch and didn’t get a chance to eat anything at the Tower.

“Why are you just standing there? What are you waiting for?” Mr. Mitchell’s voice took him out of his head.

“Sorry, sir. I’ll start on dinner.”

“Where did you get that from?”

“I bought it, sir,” he lied, lowering his wrist from where he was holding it across his chest. Mr. Mitchell’s gaze lingered on him. Peter briefly wondered if the school called them about his unexcused absence. It was a consequence he didn’t think about until too far after the fact and he wasn’t sure what type of excuse he could give them. He could calm his wrist badly enough he left early, but they might think he told someone about it.

The blanket of silence that covered the room was thick, Peter had to curl his hands into a fist to avoid anxiously fidgeting them. Mr. Mitchell looked back to the TV and Peter used it as the perfect excuse to leave the room and get started on dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos and comments make my day, so thank you all for your support. :) And I added another chapter to this baby, the last chapter was growing in word count enough that I had to add in another one. ;D
> 
> edit: Ugh, sorry for the increase in spelling/grammar issues, I copied it from my nonfixed up file instead of the one I edited. Because doing this while you're helping patrons and working is not ideal but I am so ~impatient~!!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm findable on ,[Tumblr](http://asyouleft.tumblr.com). :D


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